LIBMllY OF .CONGRESS. # 



|f,^.tSl.lf5dgw|o i 

I UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. | 



POEMS. 



xMRS. 0. M. LIVINGSTON. 




'o:< Of co/, ^ 

T CO 



Print^5 at tl)c mticvsihc Jpress, 

AND FOR SALE BY 

HURD AND HOUGHTON, NEW YORK. 
1868. 









Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 

Mrs. 0. M. Livingston, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 

of New York. 



3 1 



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RIVERSIDE, cambribge: 
PRINTED BY H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



PHEFACE. 



The Author has selected from her manuscripts 
the poems contained in this volume, hoping that, 
notwithstanding their imperfections, they would 
be not unfavorably received by the public. Many 
of them are now published for the first time, 
while others have before appeared in the leading 
periodicals of the day. They are the productions 
of moments that have intervened during the duties 
of domestic life, often unstudied, and written in 
the fullness of the feelings of the heart. Perhaps 
the reader may select from them a thought to re- 
call some wild flower which has been passed on 
the way-side of life, and cause it again to shed its 
fragrance on the sterile fields of Time. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Author's Soliloquy 1 

Sunset 8 

The Snow Storm 11 

Mind and Matter 12 

Morning 14 

The Old Church 16 

Johnny Gray 18 

Inscribed to Alphonse De Lamartine ... 20 

Valentine. To Alfred Tennyson .... 21 

The Evening Rain 23 

Childhood o'er me fondly lingers .... 25 

The Old School-House 27 

National Hymn 29 

To THE Delaware River 31 

To A Friend 34 

Old Ironsides 35 

Softened Lights Affection bringeth ... 37 

Freedom 38 

The Quill Pen 41 

Pentheos 43 

Song of the Robin 46 

The Friends that love me 48 

The Home of the Poet ....... 50 

To Henry W. Longfellow 52 

The Last Voices of Autumn 54 

The Leaves on the Stream 56 

The Promise . .58 

The Wind 60 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Maternal Love 63 

Glenville 64 

Mount Auburn 66 

The Angels 70 

Departing Day 73 

Sermon by a Worm 74 

Music 77 

Mysterious Nature 78 

Warren's Statue at Boston 81 

puissiez vous etre heureux 82 

Work while the Day lasts 84 

Flowers on Frances Osgood's Grave • . . 86 '^ 

The Orphan 87 

The Steel Pen 89 

The Minstrel Girl 90 

My Youthful Friend Mary 91 

Castle in the Air 93 

Evening 96 

Niagara Falls 98 

Dedication Song 100 

The Wounded Toad 102 

The Slave's Soliloquy 105 

Farewell to these Islands 107 

Lake Harrison 109 

Winter Ill 

The Home of my Childhood 113 

Agnes. A Pastoral Lay . ... . . 115 

Unkind Words 119 

Prologue 120 

Rallying Song 122 

A Wish 124 

New Year's Eve 125 

My Birthplace 129 

To Nellie 130 

Song to the Night Bird 132 

The Exile's Evening Reveries. 

I. Recollections of Departed Days . . 133 

IL Time . 134 

in. Fame 134 

IV. Piety 135 



CONTENTS. vil 

PAGE 

I DO NOT LIKE THIS CiTY LiFE 137 

The Dying Emigrant Mother 139 

March 142 

PiCUS-QUERULUS 143 

The Sister to her Sick Brother .... 145 

The Parasite 147 

War of the European Allies with Russia . . 149 

The Emblem 151 

The Noonday' Shower 152 

Gold 155 

Anniversary Ode . . . . . . . 159 

Valentine to a Poet . . . . . . . 161 

The Poet 162 

To MY' Brief Companion at the Old Homestead . 163 

The "Boston Daily Traveller" .... 165 

My' Native Land 167 

The Solitary Hour. 1 168 

The Solitary Hour. II. 170 

A Mother's Love ..... . . . . 172 

Autumn 173 

Twilight 176 

The Violet 177 

A Morning Walk into the Country . . . 179 

'T was a Dreadful Cold Night 181 

New Year's Address to my' Little Daughter Marie 182 

The Cloud Ship 184 

May 186 

Winter Sketches 188 

The Bright Glowing Fire 190 

The Dying Year to aiY Little Daughter Susie . 391 

The New Year to my Little Son .... 193 

The Avalanche 194 

Hepatica-triloba 195 

The Young Bride 197 

What hast thou done 199 

On the Death of Isaac Lewis, D. D. ... 201 

Hymn of Heaven 203^ 

Sabbath Morning Hymn 205 

Hymn 207 

Hymn 208 



viil CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

In the Dekp Waters when thou goest . . . 209 

i will call upon the lord 210 

To MY Daughter Susie 212 

Twilight Musing 213 

The Indian Basket 215 

Spain 216 

I HAVE FOUND THEE, FlORA 220 

Choice of a Friend . . . . . . . 221 

To THE Oriole 223 

Evening Hymn 226 

Parting Meditations 227 

The Ocean 229 

The Grave of my Little Namesake . . . 230 

St. Nicholas to my Dear Children .... 231 

" I 'm the Last of my Tribe " 233 

To A Martin 235 

The United States Steamer Richmond . . 237- 

Battle of Bull Run 239 

Notes 241 




POEMS. 



AUTHOR'S SOLILOQUY. 

I 'VE had serious thoughts to publish a book, 
But prospects grow darker wherever I look; 
Discouragements gather, there 's carnage and 

dread, 
And thousands, alas ! have no money for bread : 
For war drains the country and empties the 

purse, 
While business is daily becoming nmch worse. 
I know when a dollar is hard to be sot, 
Throngs look at a book, yet they purchase it 

not; 
For wants more important must first be sup- 
plied, 
And price of a book will of course be denied. 



Just look at the author, how wasted and thin, 

How the fires of genius consume him within ! 
He heeds not his rest, he spurns the rich feast, 
Yet labors that science be widely increased. 

1 



2 AUTHOR'S SOLILOQUY. 

He's bold of exterior, observers will say; 
That seldom he smiles, — that he never is gay. 
I pray you, kind critics, a moment to hear — 
Why treat the poor author unkind or severe ? 
Deal gently while -you may his failings condemn, 
But dwell on his merits, — dwell kindly on 

them. 
An author his errors may not always see, 
Hence faults will escape him that never should 

be: 
Yet faultless productions have seldom been found ; 
In works of great merit will errors abound. 
To offer my verse might elicit a smile. 
Abounding in failings and feeble in style : 
With Rogers and Hemans I claim not to stand. 
Or bright stars that shine in our galaxy grand. 
'Tis said a good name we can never obtain, 
Until, from all envy, in dust we are lain. 
There 's many a brow has been fitted to wear 
Rich garlands few mortals are destined to share, 
But circumstance adverse disposing their lot. 
Or cut from a critic was never forgot. 
Whose wounds, through a life-time, incui'ably deep. 
Stayed the fountains of genius, and hush'd them 

to sleep, — 
Thus clipping forever the young eaglet's flight, 
The T^Iuses had cherished with fondest delight. 
Some others, more daring, a bold stand assume, 
Upon sarcasm most in a contest presume : 
Thus Byron ascended the climax of fimie, 
Bade his critics recoil and trumpet his name. 



AUTHOR'S SOLILOQUY. 3 

In our journey of life what changes we see : 
From the gilded saloon, man a beggar may be ; 
From the summit of fame may the mightiest leap, 
And tarnish the glory a life-time did reap ; 
From the humblest of stations the genius may 

rise, 
Whose talents and virtues all ages surprise. 
Behold that pale mendicant asking for bread ! 
His woe-wasted form is an object of dread ; 
In the circle of friendship his presence was 

bless'd ; 
As the fav'rite of all he was ever caress'd ; 
At the altar of Genius her loved one he came, 
There liglited a torch that emblazoned his name ; 
But insidious ways to fashion's curst sin, 
Ah ! too soon in its vortex they hurled him 

within ! 
To the cup of pollution he turned him aside ; 
He thirsted, and drank, and all principle died. 
Now behold in that beggar, the object of pain, 
All, all of that greatness that now doth remain ! 
That orphan boy, friendless, that wanders the 

street, 
Whose presence 't is pain for the gentry to meet, 
In the National Chair may find him a seat, 
And honors by monarchs be laid at his feet. 
All greatness is greatest when firmly 'tis based 
On the structure of Truth, — 't will ne'er be 

erased ; 
For cunning, deceit, or the smooth wiles of art, 
Only please for a moment, — they win not the 

heart. 



4 AUTHOR'S SOLILOQUY. 

If aiming for honor, distinction, or fame, 
Let the halo of Justice encircle your name. 
From Truth's hallowed throne man should never 

descend ; 
Then greatness may well in his character blend. 

In this land of advancement whatever man 
wills, 

He mounts till the summit of stations he fills ; 

No impediment offers to darken desires ; 

Encouragement woos him, and freedom inspires. 

Thus man has indeed a most wonderful scope, 

His genius creative will consummate hope. 

O'er the ocean in triumph he goes at his will ; 

How grand his achievements ! how mighty his 
skill ! 

Fie levels the mountains, and plains meet the 
eyes ! 

He fells the deep forest, and cities arise. 

The realms of the pole, where the glacier sub- 
lime, 

Hath stood with bold front since the earliest of 
time. 

And splendor hath lent to that myst'ry of waves 

No mind ever compass'd, no sail ever braves! 

'Mid footprints of God on that desolate shore, 

Where He walks in his grandeur and hideth his 
lore — 

There genius of man hath his pathway explored, 

And light on these regions of Nature hath poured. 



AUTHOR'S SOLILOQUY. ft 

As advances the age, so all things progress : 
INIore numerous the volumes are issued from 

press ; 
For authorship myriads are running the race, 
Some leaping to fame, others weak in the chase. 
And where on the land or the sea is the spot, 
Where book-makers' sketches were ever forgot? 
In travels and science, religion and art, 
Of battles and bloodshed that startle the heart, 
Of nations discovered, of cities exhumed, 
Which sunlij^ht for ao^es has never illumed ; 
Where philosophers wrote, where poets have sung, 
Whose eloquence echoed their temples among. 
To the Poet the zephyr will utter a speech 
The depths of his bosom will forcibly reach. 
The song of the rill, as it gracefully glides 
And kisses the flow'rets that bloom on its sides, 
The birds in the foliage that warble and sing. 
By nature they teach how his harp he shall string ; 
The leaf and the rain-drop that fall to the earth. 
The richest effusions might call into birth ; 
The cloud and the meteor in many a form ; 
The dew and the rainbow, the sunshine and 

storm. 
If themes more extensive an author would find. 
Let him take up the wonderful subject of mind. 
Where gems he may gather if deep he explore 
In that fathomless sea with an infinite shore. 
That something profound in a clod of the earth, 
Whence mighty achievements are wrought into 

birth ; 



6 AUTHOR'S SOLILOQUY. 

That silent, invisible agent — a whole, 

Yet a complex, aye, more, an intelligent soul, 

And which from its chambers we designate 

brain — 
At will goeth out, then returneth again 
In twink of an eye, yet embraceth all themes, 
And fertile in knowledge immortally teems. 

The Poet 's esteemed an anomalous thing, 
That wits of the world with impunity sting; 
He 's deemed a strange being, superfluous on 

earth ; 
But realms more celestial his feelings gave birth. 
'T is true, he is often eccentric indeed ; 
The riches of acres he feels not the need ; 
His wealth is his harp, his enjoyment its song, 
Hence strange he appears in the world's busy 

throng. 
The lays of his genius invisibly braid 
Those rainbows of fancy ne'er destined to fade. 
God bless the poor Poet! if coffers has he, 
The richest and poorest can take out a fee ; 
But seldom a murnmr escapeth his breast, 
If left him his harp, with a coat and a vest. 

Methinks a fair morning approacheth our sky ! 
The Genius of Liberty hovers on high. 
See Freedom's proud eagle her nest here has 

built ; 
Here blood of the Patriot in conflict was spilt ; 
Here, here in its bosom, when finances fail, 
May the right arm of Industry boldly prevail, 



AUTHOR'S SOLILOQUY. 7 

And draw out that wealth from its beautiful 

mine, 
Whose banks will suspend not, and stocks ne'er 

decline. 
Hail to this great country! its valleys are dear, 
Its mountains are green, and its streamlets are 

clear ; 
Its rivers in splendor roll riches along, — .- 

None nobler were ever exalted in song. 
Our "Winter of discontent" soon will be o'er, 
And Sunnner succeed it more brioht than be- 

fore. 

Sweet Hope ! In thy sunshine all strengths 

ened I 'II go, 
My object pursuing, no obstacle know. 
A few hundred pages a volume will make — 
Shall try it ! and authorship put to the stake ! 
Thus my musings have led me unconscious 

along, 
In dreaming of Authorship, Poets, and Song. 
At last I 've concluded my poems to send 
To a candid reviewer — to authors a friend. 
I '11 abide bis decision whatever it be ; 
Approved, tliey forthcoming the people will see. 
No trifle to publish he 's e'er undertook — 
'T is enough for the public — " he 's published 

the book." 



SUNSET. 

Ye sunset clouds like flakes of gold, 

That float in yonder western sky, 
And burning there a splendor hold, 

Almost too pure for mortal eye ! 
What shall I breathe of poets' lay, 

What strains to thee, O sunset, bring ! 
For thoughts uncalled mysterious play. 

And move the minstrel's trembling string. 

Ye beauteous clouds of crimson hue. 

Upward ye roll sublimely grand, 
Leaving a track of heavenly blue 

So pure, it seems some spirit land. 
Angels, methinks, are hovering there, 

Encircled in its throne of light, 
To bless a world of sin and care, 

And leave to man some new delight. 

Those golden hues, like smiles from God, 
Are cast o'er woodland, hill, and sea. 

And waving o'er the ocean wide. 
Some blessed promise seem to be. 

Yet not that gorgeous scene alone, 
Can bind the heart, or spirit fill, 



SUNSET. 9 

Or teach those laws the Great Unknown 
Is moving by His secret will. 

Emotions kindle in the soul, 

Fancy sports on her wing sublime ; 
Thoughts, chainless as the orbs that roll, 

Sweep over space, and bounds, and time. 
With feeble eye, but deathless soul, 

Unable though himself to scan, 
A part of the mysterious whole, 

Is the mysterious being — man ! 

And all vitality must change, — 

All life material feels this law ; 
Plants of the earth, and worms that range, 

Through different forms their being draw : 
The worm a fly, the bulb a flower. 

Each changed, but made more beauteous still ; 
The worm that crept, to fly has power. 

And soars unfettered at its will ! 

So man to change was subject made, 

When his frail form shall feel decay ; 
And when great Nature's debt is paid, 

His spirit freed will soar away: 
And like yon scene that meets the view. 

Serenely bathed in golden light, 
So will the Christian sunset be. 

When changing, shining pure and bright. 

Now burning on the wavelet's breast, 
The crimson light of sunset glows ; 



10 SUNSET. 

But golden hues flide from the west, 
And deeper twilight's shadow grows ; 

Forth, glittering from its zenith high, 
Comes Lyra with its master strain, 

Bright leader of the starry sky, 

And sweetest of the heavenly train. 

Gently the evening breezes play 

Amongst the summer leaves and flowers ; 
But Autumn's melancholy lay 

Is poured upon the evening hours. 
Now all is fading into night, 

The splendid scene has left the sky. 
And sombre clouds bereft of light 

Are all that meet the minstrel's eye. 




THE SNOW STORM. 

The cold gray curtain of the clouds 
The face of midnight darkly shrouds. 
And hides the brilliant orbs that shine 
In splendid forms round Dian's shrine. 
Behind its folds the looms of air 
A spotless robe for Earth prepare ; 
The crystal shuttles swiftly go, 
And weave the woof of virgin snow. 

'T is done ; the fleecy robe is made, 
And o'er Earth's naked bosom laid, 
Which fairy hands have gently spread, 
With softened grace, where'er we tread. 
Peace o'er the mystic scene doth lie ; 
Apollo opes his golden eye ; 
Backward the dusky curtains roll, 
And lo, reveal the splendid whole ! 

O beauteous Earth ! fantastic groves, 
With glittering towers and white alcoves, 
And miracles of splendor glow. 
In bold relief, of spotless snow. 
Ye Genii of imperial Rome, 
Whose glories crown her spire and dome, 
Here might ye bow at Nature's shrine, 
And study scenes by hands divine. 



MIND AND MATTER. 

Through our narrow visual organs 
Come the pictures on the brain ; 

They might hue the walls of ether. 
Yet one cell doth all contain. 

Strange, indeed, that two small globules. 

Minute windows of the soul, 
Can look out on space extended. 

With the power to keep the whole ! 

Lifelong scenes to keep eternal. 
Subject to the will's control — 

Stretch the thought ! expand the fancy 1 
Endless is the mighty scroll. 

Are they on organic matter, 

Or on fluid so refined 
That no art can it discover. 

Or upon the immortal mind? 

Genius may construct her glasses, 
Point them to the starry spheres, — 

Worlds unseen by them discover, 

Which have run through lapse of years 



MIND AND MATTER. 13 

But no art shall e'er discover, 
Nor genius e'er the veil unroll, 

That reveals the splendid mystery, 
Of the body with the soul! 

If the past becomes eternal, 

Back to come at memory's nod, 

Man must have a twofold beinor, — 
He must be akin to God. 




MORNING. 

The night is melting into day, 

The crowing bird the silence breaks, 

The constellations fade away, 

And opening flower its color takes. 

Green alleys overhung with trees, 
Wide lawns all tremulous with dew, 

Gray cuiling mists from valleys rise. 
And grow defined upon the view. 



The choral song to light awakes 

Through Nature's grand cathedral height 
In melting strains the chorus breaks 

'^ To God ! to God ! for He is light ! " 



The plaintive voice of lowing kine 
Calling the missing forth to graze, 

Evinces feelings warm and fine 

As those the human heart displays. 



See, by the nest on yonder tree. 
The parent bird fond care renew ; 

He culls her food from hill and lea, 

And brinies for drink the morninoj dew! 



MORNING. 15 

Man in Heaven's image doomed to toil 
Unlike all else of breathing life, 

Forth comes to till the teeming soil, 
With sweat of brow, in earnest strife. 

God's smile of love rests over all, 

His mercy the whole earth doth span ; 

He whispers, 'mid our days of toil. 
Immortal life belongs to man ! 




THE OLD CHURCH. 

Oh spare the old familiar church, 
The hallowed shrine of former days, 

Where our departed fathers met 

To worship God with prayer and praise. 

Lift not thine arm to strike it down ; 

Its walls are vocal with their breath ; 
Their contrite sighs may still be heard, 

Though deep their slumber be in death. 

Their shades are still in those dim aisles ; 

Warm eloquence yet echoes there ! 
Like odor from the dewy flowers 

Long lino^erino- on the evenino- air. 

o o o o 

The morning call for worship came 
From out that modest steeple bell ; 

And rosy youth and thoughtful age 
The listening audience came to swell. 

'T is true it may have passed its day, 
In Fashion's wary, changeful eye ; 

But haply there some soul anew 

Was born to wear a crown on high. 



THE OLD CHURCH. 17 

To him, what are the classic fanes 
Where Caesar's sceptre bore its sway ; 

Dearer that hallowed temple far, 
Than glory's fragments in decay. 

Spare, then, the dear familiar church, 
By all the ties the heart that bind ; 

Oh give it place on God's great earth, 

Its walls our father's prayers have shrined! 

When from afar the truant foot. 

Back to old scenes resumes its track, 

How homelike still will be the spot 
To lure the wandering footstep back. 




JOHNNY GRAY, MY EARLY 
INSTRUCTOR. 

He was, forsooth, a lordly Scot, 
Of noble mein and visage grand ; 

But who, for unrequited love. 
Forsook, alas! his native land. 

A lonely man, indeed, was he, 

Of more than common grace possessed ; 
But dark misfortune o'er him swept, 

And crushed the hopes within his breast. 

Ah ! sure within his stricken mind, 
Some deep emotions oft awoke ; 

Some memories sweet of early days 
Its musing spell of silence broke. 

Could he forget his father-land, 
The home of his ancestral line, — 

Its burnie bright and bonny fleurs, 
He loved sae weel in auld lang syne ? 

But what were a' the simmer fleurs, 
Or cheerfu' birds of love that sang, 

Or a' the sweets of childhood's hame, 
When tortured with a hopeless pang ? 



JOHNNY GRAY, MY EARLY INSTRUCTOR 19 

Ah ! strange, mysterious power ! how deep 
Within his heart thy thorn was prest ! 

How fresh the memory of his love, 
How dwelt her image in his breast ! 

My early days beneath his care 

In vivid light return to me ; 
And when perchance I did excel, 

How pleased he always seemed to be. 

In storms his passions spent their raid; 

How, then, my bosom quailed with fear; 
But when to rest the storm was laid, 

How sunny did his face appear. 

Poor man ! cut off from kindred ties, 
Far from his highland grove and glade, 

Far from a kindred's fond caress. 
The debt of Nature he has paid. 




INSCRIBED TO ALPHONSE DE 
LAMAKTINE. 

When Time's oblivious march shall steal 

The trophies proud from shrines of art ; 
When uncreated thrones shall reel, 

And from the kingdoms e'er depart, — 
'T is thine to live, O Lamartine ! 

To swell the tomes of Gallia's fame, — 
To consecrate the patriot's shrine, 

As Freedom chants thy deathless name. 

More gently deal, O sovereign Time, 

With him whose lyre the world shall keep ; 
Whose thoughts with pathos so sublime, 

Bids minstrels list, and kneel, and weep ! 
Through odorous paths, without a sigh, 

Serene be all his splendid way ; 
More beauteous grow his sunset sky, 

To melt in Heaven's own endless day. 



VALENTINE. 

TO MR. ALFRED TENNYSON, POET LAUREATE OP 
HER MAJESTY. 

Thou Laureate Bard of Albion's Isle, 

Thy harp I 've heard across the sea ; 
And here, beneath the sunset's smile. 

Will weave a valentine for thee. 
From fresh young lands, my wandering Muse — 

Where dark eternal forests dim. 
Where Flora sleeps in prairie dews. 

And west winds chant their evening hymn — 
Laurels would braid of richest hue 

The breeze of heaven has ever fanned, 
Which to thy genius are but due, 

Thou poet of our father-land. 
Fair England, on the deep enthroned ! 

We love her good and gracious Queen ; 
We love her harps, immortal toned, 

Her homes of happiness serene ! 
Her ivied castles scathed by time. 

In pictures on my vision fall ; 
And still I hear the curfew chime, — 

Still see the knights of Arthur's Hall. 



22 VALENTINE. 

Sing on, beloved of all the Nine, 

Add glory to thy country's fame ; 
And she will rear for thee a shrine, 

And sacred keep thine honored name. 
If from thy proud and beauteous Isle 

Thy feet perchance should wander far, 
Then guide them where these sunsets smile, 

Away beneath the Evening Star. 

Feb. 14, 1860. 




THE EVENING RAIN. 

Plaintively echoes the evening rain, 
Dropping, dropping, from leaf to leaf, 

From shutter to shutter, from pane to pane, 
As if the city were full of grief 

The hurrying tramp of human feet 
Is clinking along, but growing brief, 

Till faint in distance it dies away, 

Leaving the sound of rain on the leaf. 

So on the spirit fresh tear-drops fall, 

Dropping, dropping, from string to string ; 

Loved ones have gone at their country's call, 
And deeply have left the parting sting. 

Never again, while the hills are green. 
Or whispering wave flits over the sea, 

Or bird to its loving mate shall sing, 

O woman ! shall thine come back to thee ! 

Yes, the light of thy home shall be gone ; 

Sad and trembling thy footstep shall be ; 
And thy babe, as it catches thy moaa, 

Will nestle itself closer to thee. 



24 THE EVENING RAIN 

Crushing in anguish thy gnawing pain, 
Thou 'It kiss thy babe with a fond embrace, 

While tears flow down like the evening rain. 
Dropping, dropping, on its beautiful face. 

By the hopes that were plighted in love, — 
By that babe which in sorrow thou 'st borne, — 

By those whispers that come from above, — 
Firm to stand by his country he 'd sworn. 

His form they 've wrapped in the starry shroud 
And stripes that his fathers loved so well. 

And laid him beneath the moistened sod. 
While the murm'ring rain of evening fell. 




CHILDHOOD O'ER ME FONDLY 
LINGERS. 

Childhood o'er me fondly lingers, — 
Wraps again her weary child ; 

Brings the scenes which oft I courted, 
Brings the faces once that smiled, — 

Brings the fields and groves in beauty, 
With the home that gave me birth, 

'Midst the tall trees sweetly nestled 
In the fairest spot of earth. 

Near the old green sloping orchard, 
Filled with apple blooms in spring, 

Made a Paradise of splendor. 
Poets well might love to sing. 

Down where beechen shadows gather. 
Where the woodland matins rung, 

Quivering in delicious music, 

Deep the twilight wood among — 

Ran the little crystal brooklet. 

Singing o'er its pebbly bed, 
Gurgling past its widening margins. 

Where the wild flower dipt its head. 



26 CHILDHOOD O'ER ME FONDLY LINGERS. 

Oh, 't were worth the half a life-time, 
One brief hour again to see, — 

One bright hour of golden childhood, 
By that stream beneath that tree. 

There I heard ^olian echoes 
Quavering in the forest's nod. 

Hymning grand, impassioned anthems 
In the poetry of God. 

Nature's hand in beauty planted 
Rarest flowers within that shade ; 

There the dark-eyed forest maiden 
Came to deck her jetty braid. 

She hath gone — hath gone forever ! 

Time has rung her fated knell 1 
So my memory, too, will vanish 

From the scenes within that dell. 

Round the poor heart's broken altars 
Memory broods with tender care ; 

Flowers from childhood's meadows gathered, 
Oft she brings and offers there. 



THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

Deep embosomed in the valley, 
The old school-house may be seen, 

Standing by the shining waters 
Coursing down the meadow green. 

Running through luxuriant pastures. 
Eddying round each verdant knoll, 

Till, retreating through the alders, 
Sweet its murmuring waters stole. 

Jocund childhood there assembled, 
Skilled in verbs, but not in Greek; 

Beauteous ones with vermeil blossoms 
Flushed upon the velvet cheek ; 

Like the flowers the frosts have blighted 
In the morn of blushing May, 

One by one from out that number 
Like the leaves have dropped away. 

Now the tufted weed is growing 

Close beside that school-house door ; 

All that throng have left its portals, — 
They, as then, return no more. 



28 THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

Childhood gone, no more retiirneth ; 

Hill and tree resume their bloom ; 
Once the lamp of childhood burneth, — 

Only once, until" the tomb. 

Winter snows, and flowers of summer, 
Gliding stream, and verdant hill. 

Still surround in rural beauty 

Where that school-house lingers still. 




NATIONAL HYMN. 

Come, freemen, look with kindling eye 

On this fair land our fathers gave ; 
Beneath its turf their ashes lie, 

Its bosom shrines their sacred grave. 
Hope of the earth ! Home of the free ! 

Here the oppressed for refuge fly ! 
And here, beneath its sheltering tree, 

They pray to live, and hope to die. 

Hope of the world ! Home of the free ! 
God bless our land forever ! 

Our rivers bold, impulsive swell 

And chime the music of the brave ; 
They lave the shores where freemen dwell, 

The land we all would die to save ! 
Our monarch mountains, towering high. 

Are pillars to the throne of blue ; 
Beneath, broad prairies blooming lie, 

Where lucid waters murmur through. 

Hope of the world ! Pride of the free ! 
God bless our land forever ! 

Above us in bright honors float 

Our beauteous stripes and stars in blue ; 



30 NATIONAL HYMN. 

And thrilling swells the buorle note 

When borne aloft by freeman true : 
From death's grim field, by valor bought, 

This sacred pledge of freedom came ; 
To us in patriot gore was brought 
This emblem of our nation's fame, — 

The stripes and stars ! The stripes and 
stars ! 
God bless our land forever ! 

Father ! look kindly from on high. 

On this our fondly cherished land ; 
Bind close our hearts in freedom's tie, 

And hold us in thy mighty hand ; 
Let strains of freedom earth awake, 

And let our banner proudly wave, 
Till age shall earth's foundations shake. 

And time itself shall find a grave ! 

Land of the free ! Home of the brave ! 
God bless our land forever ! 



TO THE DELAWARE RIVER. 

Thou brightly flowing Delaware, 
Whose waters kiss the hill and lea, 

And, sweeping onward, wind afar 

To mingle with the deep blue sea, — 

How strange the scenes that skirt thy brink, 
How beautiful they seem combined ! 

Bright Autumn's hues their splendor link 
With evergreens that tower behind ! 

Thy overhanging rocks sublime. 

Thy wooded hills in Autumn's sheen. 

Their sylvan echoes varied chime. 
Are parts of thy impressive scene. 

Oft here, the wild deer on thy brink. 
From yon green hillock's sloping side. 

Bent down its graceful neck to drink 
The cooling waters of thy tide. 

Forms queenly by thy margin strayed, — 
With foot light-moccasin'd they came, — 

Whose jetty eyes like lightning played 
Glances of Love's bewitching flame. 



32 TO THE DELAWARE RIVER. 

The dusky children of the wild 

Say Wequehhalah owned thy shores: 

A noble chief, alas ! beguiled, — 
And memory still his fate deplores. 

Wayula here may oft have played, — 
Wayula, daughter of that chief, — 

Here, by thy margin careless strayed, 
Nor dreamed her childhood's bitter grief. 

Down yon green vale the council fire 
With fearful flame may oft have burned, 

And war whoops rung with thunder dire, 
Ere foe on foe the battle turned. 

Thy caverns many a tomb may be 
Of thy rude children now forgot, 

Who rushed on death from ills to free. 
That bliss beyond might be their lot. 

Poor victims ! their untutored minds 

Dreamed fondly of some brighter shore,— 

Some fairy isle, or flowery land. 

And death the spirit's welcome door. 

Roll on, thou shining Delaware, 
Long consecrate this quiet vale ; 

Glide on, through plain and wood afar, 
And tell thine own historic tale. 

Glide on to yon eternal deep. 

And beauteous isles of ocean lave ; 



TO THE DELAWARE RIVER. « 33 

But oh ! thy song of freedom keep 
To teach the everlasting wave, — 

Till echoed back from eastern thrones, 
From every isle that gems the sea, 

From every spot where slavery moans. 
Or base oppression bows the knee. 




TO A FRIEND. 

WRITTEN UNDER A PAINTING BY THE AUTHOR 
IN A YOUNG lady's ALBUM. 

Ofttimes from memory's chords shall break 
Those melting notes forever dear, 

And in my heart for thee awake 

The scenes when thou, my friend, wert near, — 

When kind affection's sweet control 

Guided the current of thy soul. 

The flowers that Nature's fields illume 
Are transient as the summer's breath ; 

But friendships may in beauty bloom 
And smile around the couch of death. 

Such emblems let those blossoms be 

My pencil wove, my friend, for thee. 



OLD IRONSIDES. 

Old Ironsides ! thy giant ribs, 
From our primeval forests made, 

Withstood the bolts Old England hurled 
With all her boasted cannonade. 

Ha ! still the gallant ship thou art ! 

None braver ever swam the deep : 
And oh, it nerves my beating heart, 

To see thy form the waters sweep ! 

Dear to our Union ! brave old ship ! 

Pride of our navies, broad and tall ; 
Oh never let a foeman slip 

Across thy cannon's fiery wall — 

But dauntless face a world of braves, 
As thou didst face our father-land ; 

Lest we should crouch as abject slaves. 
And yield the soil where freemen stand. 

Ere closed the struggles of that scene. 
What conflicts didst thou fearle^ss face ! 

Thy iron ribs the billows leapt,* 

And years of triumph proudly graced. 



36 OLD IRONSIDES. 

How grand aloft thy colors float, 
And like an eagle cut the air : 

The stripes and stars our fathers bought, 
And glory marks them everywhere. 

Now when beneath the turf they sleep, 
Those dear departed fathers brave, 

Our pride of navies let us keep 
To tell their victories on the wave. 




SOFTENED LIGHTS AFFECTION 
BRINGETH. 

Softened lights affection bringeth 

From the hours where shadows lie, 
Like the golden sunset glowing 

Out from clouds along the sky; 
Like the soothing air of evening 

Breathing peace upon the hours, 
Stealing, while the dews are falling, 

Fragrant odors from the flowers. 

Like to yonder calm horizon 

Sending up its mellow hue 
Far above the clouds that darken, 

Melting in the sky of blue, — 
So above depressing shadows. 

Oft affections fondly play. 
Stretching where no shadows enter, 

Where 't is one eternal day. 



FREEDOM. 

All men are endowed by their Creator with certain unalien- 
able lights. — Jefferson. 

The winds of heaven are sweeping free, 
They come and go at God's decree ; 
Suns and bright worlds are lit on high 
To gild the dusky evening sky ; 
Streamlets unceasing wander on 
In silvery light beneath the sun ; 
Clouds free in space forever roll, 
And only yield to Heaven's control ; 
Old Ocean's everlasting tide 
Has rolled its chainless billows wide, 
Since first the firmament on high 
From chaos rose a beauteous sky, 
Sending forth one eternal chime, — 
This sacred truth, to latest time: 
He who the heavens holds with a span. 
Gave Freedom's rights to every man ! 

The very air with music rings ; 
'T is Freedom's harp with million strings ; 
Melodious birds are soaring blest, — 
They woo, and sing, and build their nest. 



FREEDOM. 39 

And, knit in love, their nestlings raise, 
To fill the air with Freedom's lays. 
Blossoms expand and scent the air; 
Insects and flowers no fetters wear; 
The sun, impartial, scatters light. 
All Nature warms, and cheers the sight; 
The dew refreshes leaf and flower. 
Each drinks its sweets at midnight hour; 
And waving buds and nodding bells 
Assent to truth all Nature tells : 
He who the heavens holds with a span, 
Gave Freedom's rights to every man ! 

The mighty orbs this truth maintain, — 
Enforcing loud in language plain, — 
Freedom is Nature's primal law, 
Instinctive as the breath we draw. 
The earth its endless circuit runs ; 
Planets on planets, suns on suns. 
Stretched limitless to human eye, 
Far in the depths of ether lie ; 
Huge worlds o'er worlds majestic go, 
And Freedom's power in splendor show! 
Each round each other, round the sun, 
Through space, through ages these have run! 
In all their splendor, all their awe, 
Proclaiming Nature's primal law : 
He who the heavens holds with a span. 
Gave Freedom's rights to every man! 



40 FREEDOM. 

Then who shall dare in chains to bind 
The freedom of the immortal mind; 
To crush the instincts burning there, 
Kindled by God's own loving care ; 
Bind man to wear the cursed chain 
That mocks our glory, tells our shame ; 
Doom the crushed soul in bonds to sigh, 
A slave to live, a slave to die ! 
Oh by the blood our fathers shed 
On yonder heights,^ by Freedom led ; 
Oh by the sacred gift they gave, 
Sealed by their blood, their love, the grave 
Oh by that light born in the mind, 
vShall man to slavery be consigned? 
He who the heavens holds with a span, 
Claims Freedom's rights for every man ! 

1 Bunker Hill. 




THE QUILL PEN. 

Why laugh at my using the old-fashioned pen, 
With its smooth crystal tube and feathers of 
snow? 

'T is the best now in use by the children of men, 
And loved by the Muses in days long ago. 

How easy it glides on the beautiful sheet ! 
Like the tide of smooth waters it seems to 
delight ! 
And thoughts flow along in such numbers com- 
plete, 
'T is a pleasure to use it whenever we write. 

We list to its murmur of low liquid notes, 
Like the musical hum of the wild summer bee, 

Till fancy in scenes of new ecstasy floats, 

And breathes like the wind that comes over 
the sea. 

The heart weighs its anchor of loneliness sad ; 

The glory of Nature is rendered complete ; 
In robes fresh unfolded, all splendidly clad. 

Creation was never more lovely or sweet. 



42 THE QUILL PEN. 

Of all the known mediums that bring forth to 
view 

The wonderful works of the infinite mind, — 
Of fashions invented, no matter how new, 

'T is surely the best one that mortals can find. 

Sweet pipe of the bards, which poets have tuned ! 
Whose minstrelsy rolls down the current of 
time ! 
The light of whose genius our path has illumed. 
And shines on the soul with its touches sub- 
lime ! 

I mourn for the changes that fashion has made 
In many good customs as well as the pen ; 

For genius may wander to weep in the shade, 
And science grow dim from the races of men. 

Alas ! my poor relic I often survey, 

And sadness broods heavily over my heart ; 

Like things that are mortal it wasteth away, — 
Like friends that are severed, ere long we 
must part. 



PENTHEOS. 

What 's the use of always trying 
To be something while we live, 

If we must be weeping, sighing. 
For the wrongs which others give, 

Till we faint by beds of roses. 

Wrung with grief and pale with care, 

And the earth no spot discloses 
That may shield us from despair 



? 



Forced to smile, the tear to cover, 
Gushing from a breaking heart ; 

Striving woe by art to smother, 
Till the life-strings seem to part! 

Blasted hopes and torn affections 
Threatening chaos in the mind, 

Brooding o'er its sad reflections, 
Telling what those hopes enshrined! 

Can it be that He who made us, 
Life imparted by his breath, 

Under all these woes hath laid us, 
Binding on us until death? 



44 PEN THE OS. 

Weeping, loving, doing duty, 

Struggling on life's troubled sea, 

Looking for a world of beauty 
O'er its waves, from sorrow free ! 



Touch, oh touch thy harp more lightly. 
Minstrel, sorrowing, sad, and pale ; 

God has made thy path unsightly. 
Lest thy clinging heart should fail. 

Life to thee was not imparted 
Just to suffer pain and woe, — 

Just to smile when broken-hearted, 
Lest the world thy ills should know. 

All of bliss and earthly glory. 
All that filled a human breast. 

Only served, when age was hoary, 
Life's mistaken views to test. 

Yonder heavens a star revealing, 
Shines upon thy darkened lot. 

In a radiant glory stealing. 
Emblem of some blessed spot. 

Hope like that thy heart should lighten, 
Help thee on to breast the wave, 

Till thy wrongs are all forgotten 
In thy slumber in the grave. 



PENTHEOS. 



45 



Love and pray and do thy duty, 
Breast awhile life's troubled sea: 

Far beyond, a world of beauty 
Lies eternally for thee. 




SONG OF THE ROBIN. 

SUGGESTED BY THE FIRST SONG OF THE ROBIN 
IN EARLY SPRING, IN THE OLD ELM-TREE IN 
ESSEX STREET, BOSTON. 

Oh ! 't is the old familiar lay 

I used to hear, while yet a child, 

In deep green orchards far away, 

When Nature in her spring-time smiled, 

- Here back it brings provincial days ; 
How histories cluster round this tree, 
When titled rulers, legend says. 
With wig and ruff sat under thee 

And quaffed the goblet, big with ease, 
Till eventide the day had closed, — 

Till stars came out upon the seas, 
And bird and beast in sleep reposed. 

Castles in splendor proudly raised, 

Imagination bade them see. 
Bright, while the golden goblet blazed. 

While drank beneath that greenwood tree. 



SONG OF THE ROBIN. 47 

It was their lordships' social place ; 

At sunset 'neath that shadowy tree, 
They themes discussed, with jovial grace, 

Those titled ones, with princely fee. 

Ere long our youthful country reeled, — 
Tri-mountain labored in her throes, — 

And vengeance, with opposing shock, 
Threw fetters back from soulless foes. 

Never again that elm beneath. 

Those titled lords, with princely fee, 

The goblet quaffed at summer eve. 
Till stars came out upon the sea. 

Yet, still, thou 'rt here a witness old, 
Of times and deeds now quite forgot ; 

Long yet may'st keep thy giant hold 
A shelter on the same old spot; 

Long may the redbreast matins sing 
Upon that same ancestral tree, — 

Scenes long agone to memory bring, 
As it has brought them now to me. 



THE FRIENDS THAT LOVE ME. 

Oh let me see the friends I love 
More close around me clinging ; 

As waves successive onward move 
My life its way is winging. 

And faces grave and faces gay 

My busy footsteps meeting, 
Like me will pass from earth away, 

Like mine, their breath is fleeting. 

The wavelets fondly float in love ; 

The clouds embrace in flying ; 
The glorious stars that shine above 

In folds of love are lying. 

Each little flower that decks my way. 
Each blade of grass upspringing, 

Each living rill in careless play 
Along the meadow singing — 

All breathe a voice of gentle love, 
Which on the heart is falling, 

Like spirit whispers from above 
That seem together calling. 



THE FRIENDS THAT LOVED ME. 49 

And listening, wrapt in silent thought, 

It thus conveys a meaning ; 
As time recedes, thy life is short, 

And but an idle dreaming. 

And thou shalt fade, as fades the flower ; 

Beneath the turf lie sleeping 
Thy friends, who, through life's transient hour, 

Their holy guard were keeping. 

Oh let me see the friends I love 

More close around me clinging; 
As waves successive onward move. 

My years their way are winging. 




THE HOME OF THE POET. 

In a sweet little cot in the deep green wood, 

Let the home of the poet be ; 
Where the bubbling streams, in a garrulous 
mood. 

Wind carelessly on to the sea ; » 

Where wild roses open their delicate hues, 
And tarry the long summer time ; 

Where Nature's green carpet with flow'rets she 
strews, 
And jessamines everywhere climb. 

And there, far away from all turmoil and care. 

In that quiet and rural retreat, 
There let him live on the simplest of fare. 

And drink from the rivulet sweet. 

Let the prairie wild-flowers yield up to the bee 

Their sweetest of honey for food ; 
From the garden of Nature, the plant, and the 
tree, 

Let the strength of the bard be renewed. 



THE HOME OF THE POET. 



51 



And when his last song on Death's confines is 
poured, 

This one simple boon let him crave: 
To sleep by his cot in the deep sighing wood, 

With his harp lying over his grave. 




TO HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, 

AFTER READING THE COURTSHIP OF MILES 
STANDISH. 

Poet, your minstrelsy is sweet, 

Refined, I ween, and not outlandish ; 

A scene of olden time complete, 

Of Plymouth Rock and Captain Standish. 

Again we see the forests tall. 

With giant arms together braided ; 

And tribes of red men, great and small. 
Which from the earth long since have faded. 

Miles Standish there immortal stands. 
With bushy beard of silver color ; 

With sword and gun in trusty hands, 
A little man, and full of valor. 

Still sitting at her spinning-wheel, 

We see the beauteous maid Priscilla ; 

And singing psalms with pious zeal, 
A freshly blossomed English Lilly. 

Upon the hill beside the deep. 

Beneath the green wheat, solemn sighing, ' 



TO HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 53 

His Rose, Miles Standish lives to weep, 
Who there in death's long sleep is lying. 

The man who learned of war the trade, 
And battles fought but for the winning, 

Essays to wed the pilgrim maid 
Priscilla, at her wheel a-spinning. 

Oh had he known the wooing art, 

Love's tactics might have well succeeded ; 

Miles Standish gained Priscilla's heart, — 
His maxim proved was all he needed. 




THE LAST VOICES OF AUTUMN. 

Come out, thou weary denizen, and take 
A thoughtful look at Nature, ere the trees 
Shall lose their green in the commingling shades 
Of gorgeous wavy light and purple. 
Brightening everywhere around thee, stealing 
Unconsciously away the summer tints, 
As thy years steal unconsciously from thee. 

The flower yet lingers, and will bend toward 
Thy gaze a look of courtesy and love. 
Without a touch of the autumnal breath 
Upon its petals ; rills yet trickle down 
Their pebbly beds, sending up liquid notes 
In mournful cadence with the sounds with which 
The air is rife — the lonely chirp of birds ; 
The liquid whisper of the ocean wave. 
Sending its tremulous tide upon the shore 
So faintly, that obeyance to the law 
Of Nature seems too much, too harsh to give, 
Save in a blended, low, pathetic tone. 
Which echoes back more mournful still from hill 
And forests, till the air we breathe is filled 
With one long dirge of death and desolation, 
Which into the heart will send its echo, 



THE LAST VOICES OF AUTUMN. 55 

Wakening chords of sympathy untouched 
Before, till a serenity so sweet 
Comes gently hovering o'er its care-worn strings, 
That life's dark heavy woes roll back to give 
A glance of heavenly peace into the soul. 

Lo ! over Nature hangs a softened haze ; 
A mellow beauty rests o'er all the scene. 
How dreamily it lies upon the glassy wave, 
Like Hope, that broodeth o'er the soul in death, 
Giving it peace ere it depart from earth. 
What solemn thoughts pervade the mind 
That looks upon the last fair leaves and flowers 
That tarry yet, but, loosening from their hold, 
Will, in a few brief days, on tree or turf 
Be seen no more, but swept away by winds, 
And lost forever to the gazing eye. 

And stay thy footsteps 'neath the green old 
trees 
That skirt thy city toward yon setting sun, — 
Trees that thy fathers walked beneath, and stopt 
To meditate on the autumnal change 
Before them, as before thee now. The leaves 
Were dropping silently and slow. 
And Nature wore the same autumnal flush ; 
So shall thy children come, as comest thou. 
To meditate upon the fading leaves and flowers. 
When thou art mouldering in the silent eartji. 



THE LEAVES ON THE STREAM. 

Flow on, flow on, thou classic stream, 

In quiet beauty to the sea, 
While on thy brink I pause to think, 

When crossing homeward o'er the lea. 

Thy borders fringed with drooping flowers. 
In tangled plumes of snowy white. 

Hang o'er thy tide, where leaflets ride 
In slow procession from the sight, — 

But once were seen, of tender green. 

Unfolding on the forest tree ; 
And wild birds sang till Nature rang 

And rocked the boughs with jubilee. 

They all on their successive stage 
Their work of life have nobly done, 

Till Autumn's breath, as still as death, 
Hath borne them here, and one by one 

They follow on. None knoweth where 
This little stream is seen to flow : 

Some river deep, where vessels sweep. 
May waft them where the corals grow. 



THE LEAVES ON THE STREAM. 67 

To line some mermaid's mossy bed ; 

Or weave a sea-bird's downy nest ; 
Or some strange shore perchance explore, 

And guide some foundering bark to rest. 

And brighter grows the golden braid 
Around ripe Autumn's blushing cheek ; 

With solemn sounds the air resounds, — 
Of death to man they solemn speak. 

And he shall drop like these fair leaves, 
Perhaps before his autumn day ; 

Upon Death's tide, all dark and wide, 
Be borne from Life's bright scenes away. 

Thus all who dwell upon the earth, 
Like forest leaves shall disappear, — 

Like clouds that fly athwart the sky. 

Take one brief gaze, — lo ! none are here. 



THE PROMISE. 

"I will give you rest." 

O THOU with heart o'erburdened with its feeling, 
Weary with earth, and sighing with its care, 

Go thou to God, thy bitterness revealing. 
Pour out the fullness of thy soul in prayer. 

He to thy restless spirit lowly bending. 
Will listen to the sighing of thy soul ; 

Peace to thy wounded spirit gently sending, 
And hope of bliss that earth cannot control. 

What if within thy sky dark shadows hover, — 
If thou hast peace with God, what need of fear ? 

If trials all thy pathway thickly cover. 

He through the darkness will thy presence 
cheer. 

What if life's morn, with radiant beauty glowing, 
Spreads out her golden pinions with delight? 

Thy breath each moment from its shrine is go- 
ing, — 
Thy morning fading in the gloom of night. 

All that is earthly changeth — fadeth ! 
Hope, beauty, all the idols that we love, 



THE PROMISE. 59 

Like brightest tints that Nature's pencil shad- 
eth, — 
Like summer flowers or leaves in Autumn's 
grove, — 

The bud and leaf, in beautiful progression, 
Attain the end for them at first designed ; 

Man only turned away from that perfection 
Which God's creation everywhere combined ! 

And wand'ring from the streams where once he 
gathered 
Fair Eden's flowers, with angels for his guide, 
How from his Father's love his heart he sev- 
ered, 
And went upon the world's distracted tide. 

But God's unchanging promise stands forever; 

Still He would reason with the troubled soul, 
From all thy bitterness of heart deliver, 

And make thy wounded spirit more than whole. 

When gladness, with the blushing light of morn- 
ing, 

Or holy twilight with her mantle falls, 
Forever comes the voice thy spirit warning, 

And woos thine ear to hear its gentle calls. 

Then go to Him, thy Maker and Redeemer, 
And lowly at his footstool prostrate kneel, — 

His aid implore to guide a wretched sinner. 
And He in mercy will thy spirit heal. 



THE WIND. 

The wind, the wind, how strange its way, 

A miracle 't will ever be, — 
Whether in storm or gentlest play, 

A deep unfathomed mystery ! 

The mighty wind that chills with fear, 
The softest breeze of tropic shore. 

So strange and varied doth appear. 
It mocks our philosophic lore. 

Through Eden's fair primeval bowers 
With beauteous Eve it often played, 

And reveled midst the blushing flowers 
Almighty fingers there had made. 

With dew-drops dripping from its hair, 
At summer eve its form I see ; 

From beds of roses comes to bear 
Its richest incense cup to me. 

And then it mounts some leafy bower. 
And twitters there a little song 

We love to hear at moonlight hour, 
So beautiful it steals along. 



THE WIND. 61 

Then soaring up its car on high, 

It sits where thunder-storms are born, 

Holding deep council in the sky. 
Amidst its ire and awful scorn. 

And lo ! descending from its throne. 
It tears the landscape in its wrath, — 

With boding darkness swells its moan, 
And desolation fills its path. 

Again it comes in piteous mien. 
With frozen tear-drop in its eye ! 

And knocks upon the lattice-pane. 
Uttering a wild and mournful cry ; 

Thence, pinioned on its buoyant way. 

It heaps its outstretched wings with snow, 

And doffs its whitened robes to say, 
" My wintry gems I 've come to show." 

Far, far it mounts on Alpine heights, 

Unwearied on its ancient wing. 
There, midst eternal icy grots, 

Its wild -^olian harp to string. 

We hail it from blest Araby, 

And from Aroma's spicy plains, 
When Nature springs with joyous glee, 

And bliss throughout creation reigns. 

So soft its breath, so kind its voice, 
The flowers in wondrous forms unfold : 



62 THE WIND. 

The robin sings, the lambs rejoice, 
And we a beauteous world behold ! 

Then far o'er yonder chainless sea 
It heaves the " ocean's hoary locks," 

And oh how dire its song will be 
Amongst the cliffs of craggy rocks. 

And what shall be, I would not know : 

Ah, mariner, thy peril see ! 
It loves to sport with human woe. 

And make an unseen grave for thee. 

The wind, the wind, how strange its way, 

A miracle 't will ever be, — 
Whether in storm or gentlest play, 

A deep, unfathomed mystery. 




MATERNAL LOVE. 

Maternal love ! purest of human ties ! 

Link of the uncreated chain above ! 
Oh who shall tell what in its bosom lies, — 

The holy bosom of maternal love ! 
It lives till every earthly passion dies, 
Then binds its link in the bright chain above. 
Sweet shelterer ! where Innocence forever flies, 
And Youth in gentle confidence so oft relies. 



GLENVILLE. 

Sweet Glenville ! shall my Muse essay to tell 
Of beauteous scenes in thine own tranquil dell, — 
Of wildwood, rocks, and trees that storms defy, 
Where summer winds breathe low their mur- 

m'ring sigh ? 
O'er slopes that sweetly grace thy landscape 

wild, 
Nature has grouped her groves and fondly smiled. 
There, o'er thy winding river's glassy side, 
Shades the huge oak in all its stately pride. 

Sweet Glenville ! in thy cool, delightful vale. 
The warbling songsters breathe their gentle tale. 
What songs like these from Nature's harps that 

spring. 
When tuned to symphony is every string ! 
Or what in music ever gave the zest 
Like that from Nature's own melodious breast ? 

What inspiration for a poet's mind 
Are scenes thy broken grandeur have combined. 
Sweet Glenville ! could I wander through thy 

shade. 
And muse on all the beauties there displayed, 



GLENVILLE. * 65 

Or could I stand beside thy rocks of old, 
And there with Nature deep communion hold, 
Fain might I like some gifted poet sing, 
And oft to mind the scenes of Glenville bring. 

May thy fair landscape long unaltered lie, 
Earth's lovely scene ! to rest the weary eye ; 
There would I, when life's storms depress the 

soul. 
Look on thy calmness, and myself control ; 
There oft I go to read thy page sublime, 
Forgetful of a world of sin and crime. 
Sweet Glenville ! thus let fostered Nature dwell 
Unaltered in thy beauteous, tranquil dell. 




MOUNT AUBURN. 

Mount Auburn, Mount Auburn, 
How countless thy number ! 

How calm and unbroken 
Thy dead in their slumber ! 

Not a breath or a murmur 
From the marble lip cold, 

But quiet together 
They companionship hold. 

The pine moaneth gently, 
Yet sweet is its sighing ; 

'T is a hymn to the sleeper 
Who 'neath it is lying. 

The west wind is breathing 
Through foliage o'erhead ; 

The aspen leaves whisper 
And sigh to the dead. 

Mausoleum and column, 

And statue and tomb. 
Here, splendid and solemn. 

Point to each narrow room 



MOUNT AUBURN. 67 

Through these walks of the dead, 

And whose occupants are 
Those who life's game have played 

And the narrow house share : 

The babe and its mother, 

The master and groom. 
The father and brother, 

Here each find a room. 

He who yesterday owned 

The prairie and wood. 
To-day is the tenant 

Of part of a rood. 

He has left all behind ; — 

Others grasp up the spoils, 
Though wrung from the needy. 

The sweat of their toils. 

But they shall come hither 

To slumber the same, 
After each shall have played 

Life's marvelous game. 

And the poor may be richer. 

Far richer than they, 
Though no trappings of wealth 

May distinguish their clay. 

Men honored in story, — 
Eternal in good, — 



68 MOUNT AUBURN. 

They consecrate Auburn, 
This beautiful wood. 

When statue shall crumble 
And column shall fall, 

When the ruins of time 
Have swept o'er them all. 

Their glory shall flourish, 

Its pillars remain ; 
Their archway 's in heaven : 

That God will sustain. 

Oh sweet blow thy breezes, 

Deliciously sweet. 
As on through thy mazes 

Still wander my feet; 

And chalice of blossoms 

Wherever I tread. 
Surcharged with sweet incense, 

Float out o'er the dead. 

Rest, rest, to thy sleepers ; 

Let the footstep be slow, 
That threads the dark alleys 

Yet moistened with woe ; 

For she who walked with me, 
Who talked by my side 

Beneath these same shadows — 
Ah ! she, too, hath died. 



MOUNT AUBURN. 69 

But few flowers have faded, 

But few suns have set, 
Since her voice here echoed, — 

It here lingers yet. 

Mount Auburn, Mount Auburn, 

How countless thy number! 
How calm and unbroken 

Thy dead in their slumber ! 




^--^ 



THE ANGELS. 

A LITTLE child amongst the flowers. 
Sat singing away the happy hours ; 
And careless o'er her forehead fair, 
Hung wavy curls of silken hair. 
Her fairy form she constant swayed, 
Time keeping with the tune she made ; 
Three simple words lisped o'er and o'er, 
Were what she sang, — she sang no more. 
" Who loves me, who loves me ? " 
" Every blossom thou dost see," 
Sighed the zephyr, " loveth thee." 

The modest bluebell merry rung. 
As if the words to her were sung ; 
The bursting rose-bud, fringed with green, 
Expanded with a gracious mien ; 
The jasmine round its tendrils threw. 
To prove its love was deep and true ; 
Viola wider oped its eye 
And sent a laugh across the sky — 
But still the child unceasing sung 
The same three words the flowers among : 
" Who loves me, who loves me ? " 
"All the birds that list to thee," 
Sang the robin from the tree. 



THE ANGELS. 71 

Meanwhile, through heaven's serene expanse, 
Angelic forms to earth advance : 
The song had reached the ear above, 
And, guided by celestial love. 
Pausing amidst the shady bowers. 
Where sang the child amongst the flowers, 
They, listening, heard the artless lay 
In which she sang the hours away: 
" Who loves me ? who loves me ? " 
'' All the angels heaven doth see — 
God and angels — they love thee." 

Thus immortal lips replied ; 
Then, softly floating from her side, 
They disappeared in upper space 
As mists the rays of morn efiace, 
And closed above the mystic scene 
The mantling dome of blue serene : 
The low winds whispering rocked the rose. 
The lilies paled like winter snows, 
Around more close the jasmine vine 
Its golden bells of love did twine ; 
Viola dropped a tear of grief 
And bowed her head beneath a leaf. 

Then ceased the child her artless song, 
No more 't was heard the flowers among ; 
But oft her tiny footsteps tread 
The garden maze they loved to thread, 
And long into the glorious sky 
She 'd fix her calm and wishful eye, — 



72 THE ANGELS. 

While more ethereal grew her form, 
And beauty blent a holier charm. 
Once more she raised her eye of blue, — 
It seemed to pierce the ether through, 
As if she saw those gates unfold. 
Where shining ones have harps of gold, 
Or, heard from melting notes above. 
Tones sweet of fond maternal love, 
For which her yearning heart had sighed, 
And life was blank with that denied. 

Beauteous child! too pure to last! 
The shades of death are o'er thee cast : 
Angels are whispering sweet and low 
Those things the dying only know. 
Still as the breath of opening flowers. 
Still as the sky ere tempest lowers, 
From earth her spirit passed away 
To shores of light, to endless day ; 
And where on summer flowers she laid, 
Her little grave in tears was made. 



DEPARTING DAY. 

Gently adown the western sky 
The sun is fast declining, 

And on the wooded ridges lie 
Its calm and mellow shining. 



So let the scenes of duty grow, 
As from our life the day is going, 

And o'er its gathering shadows throw 
As sweet and calm a glowing. 



SERMON BY A WORM. 

(from the window-sill of AMHERST COLLEGE 
CHAPEL.) 

Why hast thou come here, O thou strange 
creeping worm, 
A Freshman just entered, this last College term ! 
Audacious thou crawlest with purpose, or will, 
Incessantly roving o'er this window-sill, — 
And stopping to view me, as proudly you pass, 
As grand as a Bishop when holding a mass, 
Or Tutor in charge of a Sophomore class ! — 
All decked out in colors, a motley array, 
As gay as the damsels that walk in Broadway ! 
In yellow and green, with invisible brown. 
The prelude of Autumn I see on your gown ; 
And if I mistake not, the hue of your face 
With the genus of Jews would your counte- 
nance place. 
Avaunt from my presence ! pray do nothing less ! 
I fear you will hide in the folds of my dress. 
And with your tall antlers my body will sting ; 
And if I cried out, what a horrible thing! 
'T is the sermon to hear for which I have come : 
I wish you would go with your classmates or 
chum. 



SERMON BY A WORM. 75 

Then stopping, he gracefully lifted his head, 
And, wise as a sage, turned toward me and said. 
While multum in parvo his teaching began : 
" I '11 show you a mystery no mortal shall scan. 
Although I came hither a poor creeping worm, 
Yet in me I '11 prove is a wonderful germ : 
My Maker hath made me the semblance of man, 
A typified thing in His marvelous plan. 

"From a nursling, I dwelt where honey-bees 

flocked ; 
A flower was my cradle, by summer winds 

rocked ; 
With brothers around me, my world was a tree ; 
I cared not, — my Maker provided for me. 
With a leaf for my table, I gratefully dined ; 
For viands more costly I never repined. 
I '11 preach you a sermon without any text, 
More orthodox none by a Prof or a Prex ; 
And when I have done I will weave me a shroud, 
And into some niche my poor body will crowd. 
But when a few suns shall have circled away, 
And I shall come forth to the sunshine of day, 
In tints of the rainbow will quiver my wings. 
And I shall be loved like all beautiful things. 
The chaste eye of maiden will linger on me, 
And childhood leap joyous my presence to see ; 
My food will I draw from the white lily's breast ; 
On wings of a cloudlet my body will rest. 



76 SERMON BY A WORM. 

" Like the seed from the tree that hangs over- 
head, 
That drops to the earth where the vulgar may 

tread, 
And sinks to its bosom in silence to rest, 
Yet holds, unperceived, in its mystical breast 
Unorganized life, distinctive, apart. 
And destined in vigor and splendor to start, — 
Like me, it shall die not, but leaveth its tomb. 
And towering to heaven in beauty will bloom; 
So I, from my cerement, erelong will arise, 
And you may behold me with wings in the skies ! 
When Cometh your change, if you 're ready, like 

me, 
A victory immortal your spirit will free. 
I argue thus bold, in my ethical strain, — 
A worm of the earth, yet I preach not in vain. 

"I will prove all my subject;" so onward he 

ran. 
With an instinct approaching to reason in man; 
" For my change I am ready ; " — then nearer 

he drew, 
And dropped in a corner quite darkened from 

view. 
And wove him of satin a beautiful shroud, 
Where eye of a mortal no look is allowed. 
But when a few mornings the sun had awoke, 
A fairy-like thing from its sepulchre broke ; 
Unfurling its wings, like a seraph it flew, — 
Thus proving the sermon he preached me was 

true. 



MUSIC. 

WRITTEN WHILE A HAND-ORGAN WAS PLATING 
UNDER MY WINDOW FROM THE OPERA OF 
LUCRETIA BORGIA. 

Oh break no more this magic spell ! 

It melts my soul with raptures wild, 
Like music from some Peri's shell : 
I 'm held a captive to its spell, 

Subdued and passive as a child. 
Thou heavenly power, with influence mild, 
Stay, stay, for I forget that earth is cold. 

Or man is mortal, in this vale of tears. 

List ! list ! above yon bright, yon burning 
spheres, 
Angels breathe music from their harps of gold ! 

Would I were there, where 't is the soul of 
heaven. 

And one sweet lyre to me were given. 
Its chords to sweep, without a grief, or sigh. 
Without a trembling tear to dim the eye. 



MYSTERIOUS NATURE. 

'T IS a mysterious thing to see the earth 
Put on the fresh unfolded robe of spring, — 

To hear the liquid notes go up in mirth, 
And melt in chorus from each living thing. 

Noiseless the bud expandeth into flower; 

Noiseless the forest robes its naked form ; 
Noiseless as thought in its mysterious power. 

Or sunlight breaking through the clouds of 
storm. 

Thoughtful we walk beneath the shadowy tree, 
Dense with its canopy of leaves and flowers ; 

We hear aerial notes, or hum of bee, 
And linger careless of the fleeting hours. 

The rudest mind or dullest eye can see 
This transformation of consummate skill ; 

For ice-bound streams and desolated tree. 
The vernal robe, and gently flowing rill. 

The flower at morn unfolds each silken leaf. 
And lives its bright and beauteous day; 

Then, chilled with age, it droops at dews of eve, 
And thus the flowers successive pass away. 



MYSTERIOUS NATURE. 79 

Each fragrant bud that opes its incense cup 
Upon the air at early morn to pour, 

Is filled with myriad life, in brilliant forms, 
Whose day with flowers of setting sun is o'er. 

Brief particles ! minute, mysterious life, 
In the material compact perfect made ; 

Atoms that breathe, and love, and reproduce, 
And with the flowers at dews of sunset fade. 

Each scene that moves the heart with deep 
delight. 

Whose splendor unexpressed allures the eye. 
Is but an atom, like the stars of night, 

That shine, when millions hid beyond them lie. 

Far, far beneath the waste of waters deep, 
Are waving grottoes of perpetual green, 

Where buds unfold and vines in beauty creep, 
A world of life to human eye unseen. 

In all the grand economy of God, 

Where'er we gaze, whate'er our footsteps meet, 
Through ocean's depths, the air, the verdant sod. 

Atom on atom, life on lives complete. 

Formed in obedience to stupendous might, — 
Before whose presence, veiled, in awe we bow ; 

Who yonder orbs swung loose in breathless 
height. 
And bade them silent roll, since time, as now. 



80 



MYSTERIOUS NATURE. 



Lost in a reverie too deep for thought, 

From these mysterious searchings set me free ; 

For who shall find out Him the change that 
wrought, 
Or who explore the Power Supreme we see ? 




WARREN'S STATUE, 

AT BOSTON. 

When a bold defending few, 
Strong in faith, together drew, 
Nerved the arm and took the field, 
Death or Freedom on their shield, 
By the might of God they fought, 
Till by blood was Freedom bought ! 

Warren on the giant foe 
Struck a bold defensive blow ; 
Warren fought for Liberty; 
Warren fell ere Victory 
Had her ensign for the brave 
Hung upon a patriot's grave. 

Children of the Mayflower band, 

Yours is Freedom's happy land! 

Dear New England ! Glorious name ! 

Full of patriots, full of fame, 

Let the statue proudly tell 

Where our Warren fought and fell. 



PUISSIEZ VOUS ETRE HEUREUX. 

I WOULD not that sorrow should darken thy 

way, 
But joy in thy dwelling forever might stay ; 
Affection's bright halo encircle thee round, 
And blossoms of peace in thy pathway be found. 

1 would that thy sky might forever be calm, 
Thy atmosphere odored with richest of balm, 
The bright star of Hope linger sweet o'er thy 

way, 
Unshrouded and lovely, and never betray. 

Thy dark laughing eyes, ever thus may they 

smile ; 
They tell of thy heart, yet unspotted by guile ; 
May freshness of youth long encircle thy brow, 
And happiness glad as it gladdens thee now. 

I think of thy youth, of that sorrowful hour, 
A bud thou wert left just expanding to flower; 
Affection the purest thy spirit could crave, 
Was hidden and lost in the desolate grave. 



PUISSIEZ VOUS :^TRE HEUREUX. 83 

I would not affliction should chill with its storm ; 
I would not that sickness should wither thy form ; 
But buoyant thy step as when childhood first 

smiled, 
When Innocence blessed thee, and called thee 

her child. 

Alas for us mortals ! in earth's changing sphere, 
Cold tempests will hover and dark skies appear ; 
Nor alone decked with flowers our pathway be- 
low, 
For roses and thorns e'er together will grow. 

How varied life's landscape ! fair sometimes our 

sky! 
To-day we are laughing, to-morrow we sigh ; 
When the rainbow of pleasure is brightest o'er- 

head, 
Beyond lies the tempest, dark, awful, and dread. 

In thy heart may the spirit of piety reign, 
The bright crown of life be it thine to obtain ; 
When past the dark vale which our fathers have 

trod, 
A harp may est thou take with the ransomed of 

God! 



" WORK WHILE THE DAY LASTS, 

FOR THE NIGHT COMETH WHEREIN NO MAN CAN 
WORK." 

Shall we tarry ? Never, never ! 

There 's no time for man to waste : 
Up and doing, striving ever ; 

Onward, each, to duty haste. 

Loiter not — 't is wild presumption ! 

Every moment onward still ; 
Man, while here, is on a mission 

God hath given him to fulfill. 

Life is brief — a day of trouble; 

Guard the heart and nerve the mind : 
Night approacheth — bravely struggle ; 

Soon no work the hands will find. 

Waste not time, oh waste it never ; 

Haste to duty, that pursue : 
This, till death, thy first endeavor, 

Keep alone before the view. 

Look on high ! the stars are sweeping 
Endless rounds through boundless space ; 



WORK WHILE THE DAY LASTS. 85 

Each its silent duty keeping, 
Never halting in the race. 

List to Nature's tones prophetic ; 

Summer wind or lisping wave, 
Fading flower or breeze pathetic. 

Each reminds us of the grave. 

Slumber not at break of morning — 
On its wing mounts up the dew; 

Opening buds the earth adorning, 
Each the mandate follow through. 

Shall we linger ? Never, never ! 

There 's no time for man to waste : 
Up and doing, striving ever; 

Onward, each, to duty haste. 




FLOWERS ON FRANCES OSGOOD'S GRAVE 

AT MOUNT AUBURN. 

Bright pendent flowers, which graceful bloom 
In splendid forms o'er Osgood's grave ! 
Can it be sacrilege to crave 

One blossom from her lonely tomb — 

One flower to save ? 

Ah ! darkly 'midst the damps of clay 

The gifted poet calmly sleeps ; 

Here blooms the flower, here sighs and weeps 
At genius jDassed too soon away, 

And vigil keeps. 

Hush ! while I utter those sweet strains 
That gushed so warmly from her lyre, 
And sweetly thrilled, but to expire, 

And wake on the immortal plains, 

With holier fire. 

Bright flower ! I '11 press it to my heart, 

I '11 keep it as a relic blest. 

And oft, amidst this life's unrest, 
'Twill precious memories bring, apart 

From all the rest. 



THE ORPHAN. 

The day is waning, child ! 

Your limbs are cold and bare; 
The wintry winds blow wild, 

There 's none for you to care. 

Your heart is sorrow, child ! 

Your parents both are gone : 
'Tis long since you have smiled, 

Poor outcast all forlorn ! 

Your brow is thoughtful, child! 

You 're dwelling on your lot, 
When joy your bosom filled, 

But now unloved, forgot. 

Y''ou had a mother, child! 

And felt her fond embrace : 
How full of joy she smiled, 

How blessed was her face. 

Alas ! you 're weary, child ! 

Tear-drops are in your eye ; 
'T is God your lot has willed, — 

Your Father in the sky. 



88 



THE ORPHAN. 



"He will take thee up," child! 

He made this solemn vow ; 
Then spoke she, while she smiled, 

"I wish He'd take me now." 




THE STEEL PEN. 

Now once for all I do condemn 
Forever this unwieldy pen 
Brought into general use, — 
I owe it all my worst abuse. 

Metallic pen, 

Never again 
With you 1 '11 scrawl a line ; 
I 'd sooner rake from out the brine 
A lobster's claw, and then 
Write billet-doux so fine 
You 'd have to magnify the line, 
And connoisseurs would say 
How beautiful ! Away ! 

Give me another 

From Nature rather, — 
Rather from out the bird of Jove 
That soars the clouds above ; 
Or from the modest goose. 
The best of all in use. 

Then would I sing, 

Hail to the wing, 

For such a thing, 
A goose's kind gratuity ! 



THE MINSTREL GIRL. 

Sweet thy strains, thou minstrel daughter, 

Touch again thy ocean shell. 
From thy cottage by the water, 

In the green and shadowy dell. 

I have listened all enchanted. 

Held within thy magic spell ; 
What a boon has Nature granted 

In thy sweet and simple shell. 

Gentle maiden, unassuming. 

On thy fortunes how I dwell. 
Since I saw thee sweetly blooming 

In thy quiet ocean dell, — 

With each pale mysterious feature, 
With thy eyes that pleasure tell: 

Take my heart, thou fairy creature, 
Minstrel of the ocean shell. 



MY YOUTHFUL FRIEND MARY. 

Mary, dost thou yet remember, 

In the days of joyous spring. 
When the flowers were young and tender, 

And the birds did blithely sing — 

How we used to play together, 

When the orchards were in bloom, 

'Neath the trees, when wild bees ever 
Kept their own unceasing hum? 

Tell me, dost thou yet remember 

All those days forever fled. 
When, beside the still blue water, 

Other scenes our footsteps led — 

From thy father's hearth where gathered 
All the little household band ; 

All, without a link unsevered, 
As we saw in beauty stand — 

Like the buds to blossoms opening 
In the blessed hour of May ; 

Laughing, loving, fondly hoping, 
Thus that life might ever stay? 



92 MY YOUTHFUL FRIEND MARY. 

Yes, those days thou dost remember; 

All that little group dost see ; 
And affection still is tender 

As its forms return to thee. 

Long those moments round will hover, 
Long within thy heart will stay ; 

Ne'er, till life's last link shall sever. 
Will their memory pass away. 

Often when the world, unloving. 
Coldly seems to smile on thee, 

Backward thought, in silence roving, 
Brings the hours thou'st spent with me. 

Like the flower its odor sending 
On the path in which we rove. 

So, to us, is memory lending 

Bliss the hearts of childhood wove. 

Oh I would that time might never 
Life's bright tints a moment fade ; 

Friend with friend might dwell forever, 
Where no parting word is said. 



CASTLE IN THE AIR. 

I HAD a strange and wondrous dream, 
A kind of visionary scheme ; 
The glowing numbers thus began, 
And sweet, indeed, the vision ran : 

'T was on a fair and beauteous night, 
When every star for me shone bright. 
And dew-drops into crystals turned, 
And, rainbow-like, in radiance burned ; 
The stream and breeze sent up their lay, 
And sweetly charmed my soul away, 
Until, before my eager eyes, 
I saw a splendid city rise, 

With many a lofty spire and dome ; 
And Ocean, on her mighty breast. 
Sent in her ships from east and west, 

And made that busy spot their home. 
While sweet the clang of many a mill. 
The breeze with melody did fill. 
And echoed back from hill to hill. 

Like minstrelsy in days of yore ; 
I heard the voice of future days 
Descant sublimely in my praise. 

And read my name in treasured lore. 



94 CASTLE IN THE AIR. 

In aisle and court my statue stood ; 
They called me noble, great, and good; 
And halos of immortal fame 
In splendor shone around my name: 
Oblivion saw, and heaved a sigh, 
And wiped her cold, sepulchral eye. 
My glory, which she sought to grasp, 
Arose above her power to clasp. 
And yearly did each chiming bell 
My bold achievements proudly tell, 
Till gratitude my praises sung 
In sweetest strains of human tongue. 
Time dropped for me her sands of gold, 
I gathered wealth and fame untold. 

Then I awoke, and turned away 
To where the scene in Nature lay, 
And there I toiled full many a day, 
With Hope alone to cheer my way ; 
When, lo ! the stars grew dim and cold. 
The crystal drops in dust had rolled, 
Earth in her mantle rudely crept. 
And hid herself — and there she slept. 
The stream that gave to me her song. 
And charmed my vision sweet along, 
Had lost its soft and silver breath. 
And outstretched lay as still as death ! 
My statues into atoms fell ! 
And ceased fore'er each chiming bell ! 
My glory lived e'en but a day, — 



CASTLE IN THE AIR. 95 

Like summer cloud it passed away. 
Oblivion laughed, and seized her prey ! 
Oh, then, my " castle in the air " 
Exploded like a meteor there ; 
The jarring of its mighty sound 
Was felt in sullen gloom around. 

With faltering step I turned away, 
For nought will e'er my toil repay. 
Ah, me ! this is a world of change. 
And man's career is surely strange ; 
I feel my head is growing gray. 
Time's finger pulls my locks away; 
I sit for hours demure and sad, 
And make no being round me glad; 
But gaze into the coals, — if such I find, 
And wonder at my visionary mind. 




EVENING. 

Twilight is gone, and Evening now 
Her sable mantle throws around ; 

The cool wind fans the weary brow, 
And stillness holds its sway profound. 

How calmly falls the sober ray 

That shines from yon ethereal dome, 

That points to heaven the spirit's way 

Through distant spheres, to God, its home. 

Evening, thine is the lonely hour, 

When mind immortal mind may meet ; 

And prayer, like incense, angels bear 
Up to the holy Mercy-seat. 

There comes a voice from Olives' height, — 
The gentle Saviour's lonely prayer ; 

'T is borne, amidst the hush of night, 
From Judah's groves of balmy air. 

" Father ! let it pass ! " He said ; 

" How can I drink the bitter cup ? 
Still be Thy will in me obeyed; 

My will, my hfe, I yield them up." 



EVENING. 97 

Forever shall that mystic scene 
Float on the lonely wings of night, 

And on our Father teach to lean 
For help to make our sorrows light. 

Evening ! thine is the season blest 

To woo the soul from cares and woes, — 

When angels gently watch our rest, 
While pillowed in the night's repose. 

How oft thy shadows fondly bring 

The memories of departed days ; 
How calmly buoy the spirit's wing, 

As back we turn life's by-gone ways. 

Serene earth's glorious landscape lies. 
Beneath the beams of Cynthia's light ; 

The twinkling orbs bestud the skies, 
And flood the earth with mellow light. 

How grateful is this stilly hour! 

Rude sounds no more the ear enthrall ; 
And kindly o'er the drooping flower 

The tear of night doth silent fall. 

Evening, blest season ! man is free 
From busy care, from toil and woe; 

And lo! he bends in prayer the knee. 
And sweet to God his accents flow. 

7 



NIAGARA FALLS. 

Great wonder of Nature ! thy thunders I hear ; 
Thy rush of wild waters before me appear ! 
A majesty awful doth compass the mind, 
The might of Jehovah around me I find. 

In thy deep dreadful chasms thick volumes of 

spray, 
In dense moving clouds mount the ether away. 
Till hung like a sheet on the front of the sky, 
Are mists that thy waters have sent up on high. 

In caverns of foam thy bright rainbows are born, 
Where green rolling rapids whirl under with 

scorn ; 
These walls, which thy torrents together have 

stayed. 
The hand of Omnipotence boldly hath laid. 

Wert thou poured here, Torrent, to thunder 

sublime. 
To echo throuorh asjes the waninij of time ? 
Or millions to teach, who thy precincts have trod. 
To doubt not the mio[ht and the wisdom of God ? 



NIAGARA FALLS. 99 

Wild, wild are emotions that rush through the 

mind, — 
The pulses of life scarce their channels can find ; 
Enough is thy awful imposing control 
To palsy the sense and to shatter the soul. 

But turn from thy brink to thy islet of green, 
Where verdure of Nature like spring-time is seen ; 
Like Mercy it sits in the foam-dashing tide. 
And smiling in beauty thy waters divide. 

Here, here doth thy magic unburden the mind; 
Here charms of the wild wood are sweetly com- 
bined ; 
New and gentler emotions are called into birth ; 
It seems like a paradise guarded from earth. 

Enthroned in sublimity, grandeur, and awe. 
Thou scene of great Nature, no pencil can draw ; 
Thy paean of thunder, with time, has e'er told, 
The glory of God in thy handiwork bold! 



DEDICATION SONG. 

WRITTEN BY REQUEST, AND SUNG AT THE DEDI- 
CATION OF HARRISON HALL, MARCH 4, 1841. 

Let freemen join in grateful song, 

Within these walls to-day ; 
Let music echo loud and long. 

And through these arches play. 

Let the dim forest breathe its voice, 

Old Ocean's deeps reply ; 
Let our wide continent rejoice 

As the glad tidings fly. 

A grateful nation claims this day 

Rich honors to bestow. 
The valiant soldier to repay, 

Who conquered every foe. 

And by our noble hero's side 

We '11 firm together stand ; 
In freedom's cause with him allied. 

Go strengthened hand in hand. 

And may our rising infant race 
Tell hence what deeds were done, 



DEDICATION SONG. 101 

And often mingle in this place, 
True Whigs of Harrison. 

And when on eastern regions far, 

Our chieftain rests his eye, 
'T will cheer him there to see our " star " 

In glory rising high. 

Where Narragaugus wanders on, 

Long may this mansion stand, 
And bear the name of Harrison, 

The honored of our land. 



Let strains of music loud and long, 
Throughout its arches play ; 

Let grateful hearts break forth in song, 
^T is jubilee to-day. 






THE WOUNDED TOAD, 

ON THE U. S. CAPITOL GROUND AT WASHINGTON. 

I WANDERED one morning, the sweetest of May, 
Inhaling the breezes that favored the day. 
And filled with the odor from lilacs around, 
That bloomed so profuse on the Capitol ground. 

As thoughtful and slowly, enjoying the scene, 
I came down a walk under shadows of green, 
A poor little toad, nearly frightened to death, 
Hopped out of the way and was panting for breath. 

The blood from his shoulder was oozing in drops ; 
He hopped up the side under edgings of box ; 
His gray eye protruded with suffering and fear ; 
In mercy he begged me his story to hear. 

" I made me a home in a cavity small, 
Inside of the bank by the new Senate Hall, 
And lined it with down from the cotton-wood- 
tree, — 
A dear little home for a creature like me. 

" I thought here in pleasure my life-time to spend ; 
With vigilant eye these green lawns to attend; 



THE WOUNDED TOAD. 103 

The blossoms to guard that successively blow; 
And seize every caitiff that lurked as a foe. 

" To drink of the dew from the nectar of flowers 
That evening collects from invisible showers, 
Through long summer nights, with the bright 

stars above, 
To sit under roses and croak to my love. 

"*I was smitten, alas ! on national ground ; 
A foeman, good Madam, inflicted the wound. 
Who from his own country for freedom had fled, 
And hither by Providence kindly was led. 

" This man with a sickle was cutting the grass, — 
I thought it no trespass and ventured to pass ; 
He wickedly came and inflicted a blow: 
He severed my shoulder, — oh where shall I go ? 

" Here, here was I born, but a twelvemonth ago, 
When the catkins fell thick on the pavement 

below ; 
And, with the good teachings my fond mother 

gave, 
I hoped here to dwell till I entered my grave. 

" I 'm nothing, indeed, but a poor harmless toad. 

Endowed with the instincts which God has be- 
stowed ; 

Yet the principle. Madam, that hastens my 
death, 

Still mocks at my woe as I struggle for breath. 



104 



THE WOUNDED TOAD. 



" Beware lest the foe in your bosom you cherish, 
Should strike but a blow and freedom should 

perish ; 
Despise not the warning in dying I give, 
And the fame of this Union forever may live.'* 




THE SLAVE'S SOLILOQUY. 

I AM a slave ! Oh why was I born ! 
Why was I made for sorrow and scorn ! 
Everywhere, on the wide earth and sea, 
Life is exalted ! is godlike ! is free ! 

I am a slave! Oh bitter the sigh 
That rendeth me ! Ah, where shall I fly ! 
Crushed with a curse, and deadened with woe, 
Vain are my tears, which blind as they flow. 

My mistress is beautiful. They sing 
Of her virtues ; and gay lovers bring 
Hearts adoring to lay at her shrine, — 
Angel they call her, or, being divine! 

Fair is her face as the new-fallen snows, 
Softer its blush than that of the rose ; 
E'en her dimples an houri might crave : 
Such is my mistress, — I am her slave ! 

She is my mistress ! she whom I serve 

Unremitting, with spirit and nerve ; 

I unshpper her delicate feet. 

And bathe them lest she languish with heat. 



106 THE SLAVE'S SOLILOQUY. 

On down she reposes, — I, on the floor ; 
I am a slave ! must crave nothing more : 
Yet she is my sister, — none will deny 
I have her features, her dimples, her eye. 

My father was her's, — her father mine ; 
I am a slave ! but she is divine. 
Merciful God ! — if mercy Thou art — 
Sever these chains, or stifle my heart. 



FAREWELL TO THESE ISLANDS. 

Our white sail is swelling, farewell to these 
Islands ! 
My eyes on their prospects may never rest 
more : 
Away from these hillocks, these valleys, and 
highlands ; 
Farewell to this rock, to this sea-girdled shore. 

Far, far, from the home that my infancy nour- 
ished. 
Yet still they are dear to their daughter and 
son : 
There's the cradle that rocked them, and there 
they 've flourished. 
And there is their crave when life's chancres 
are done. 

No flower on their bosom 'mid winter is spring- 

But cold on their hillock the snow-shroud is 
spread ; 
To hallowed enjoyments their children are cling- 
ing. 
And they heed not the clime where rich ver- 
dure is shed. 



108 FAREWELL TO THESE ISLANDS. 

Farewell ! How we glide to the dark rolling 
ocean ! 
How its cadence of waters seem met on mine 
ear ; 
My song, hence, the billows' own dreadful com- 
motion, — 
Then away, till a landmark of rest shall ap- 
pear. 




LAKE HARRISON. 

Lake of the forest ! to thy lonely side 

The stranger comes to gaze awhile on thee ; 

To stand beneath thy pines that thick and wide 
Send their deep shadows round thy crystal sea. 

Here thy pure waves have rolled since time 
began, 
To cheer the solitude within this wild ; 
And still unchanged art thou by hand of man, 
As at thy birth, when God with pleasure 
smiled. 

Far to yon border rests the weary eye, 

Where shattered trees, with moss o'ergrown. 

Send forth their ragged arms with awe on high, 
And echo to the wind their solemn moan. 

Dark forest shadows on thy bosom fall, 

As if deep night erelong would close thee 
o'er ; 
While perched on some lone bough the scream- 
ing call 
Of sea-bird starts us on thy lonely shore. 



110 LAKE HARRISON. 

No human footstep marks thy sandy beach, 
Save when the stranger comes to stand by 
thee ; 
Or him who loves the things of earth that teach 
V Lessons of Him who fills Eternity. 

We come not to thy side for classic lore ; 

Thy legend with the red man's tale would 
blend, — 
Tell where he built his home in days of yore. 
And owned the Christian white man for his 
friend. 

And couldst thou history here to us unfold, 

Traditions of thy mighty Indian race, 
How would we shrink when thou the tale hadst 
told, 
And uttered forth the white man's deep dis- 
grace ! 

Lo, here, in eastern forests dark and dim. 
Unseen thou'st spread thy bosom to the sky, 

And blent thine own melodious anthem hymn 
With choral orbs that roll sublime on high. 

Lake Harrison ! be this thy honored name ! 

And with thy history's page be hence enrolled ! 
May ages bear thy honored name the same. 

And this thy christening hour as long be told. 



WINTER. 

The bird may triumph in its flight 
From such a cold, inclement sky : 

Who would not dwell where skies are bright, 
When winter reigns so drearily ? 

For one would think the very gale 

Had come from Lapland's frozen woods, 

Howling in triumph through the vale, 
O'er Nature's dreary solitudes. 

Where can thy charms, O Winter, be, 
So cold, so cheerless, and so rude ? 

Thy landscape is the leafless tree. 

The snow-clad field, and darkened cloud. 

In vain the fancy strives to find 
Some little scene to rest her eye; 

But wrapt in dullness is the mind, 
And stupid every faculty. 

Oh, what besides the glowing hearth 
Can while away an hour like this, 

And cheerful friends of moral worth, 
In scenes of social happiness ? 



112 WINTER. 

O Winter, how we dread thy power; 

Ye hours so rude fly soon away ; 
Come Spring, sweet Spring, with song and flower, 

And Fancy's theme shall tune my lay. 




THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

'T IS the home of my youth I tenderly love ! 
There memory will linger and fancy will rove : 
Endeared is that spot, the loved spot of my 

birth ! 
Entwined in my heart as the sweetest on earth. 

There roses of smnmer their sweetness combine ; 
There the dark hoary trees are clasped by the 

vine ; 
The streams near the dwelling, that gracefully 

flow. 
And glide to the forest where wild blossoms 

blow, 
Still utter in murmur their beautiful hymn, — 
I ne'er will forget till all Nature is dim. 

My fathers came thither from Albion's proud 

isle, 
They planted green trees, and they leveled its 

soil ; 
There nourished brave sons till they planted 

them wide. 
Or gave them for freedom, — for freedom they 

diedl 



114 THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

Still fresh are the tales that my ancestors told 
Of deeds of that conflict, that never grow old. 

The mind is absorbed with its burden of thought, 
That volumes unwritten to mem'ry are brought ! 
Oh what do I see, of that tragical day. 
That shrouded my country in mourning array, 
And famine and terror its dwellings did keep, 
Where widows were beggared and mothers did 
weep ! 

Though changed since that time, it is beautiful 

yet,— 

The home of my childhood how shall I forget ! 
On beech-trees that grew on the slope of the 

hill. 
My name I carved rudely, and there it is still ; 
The rivulet glides with a murmur as sweet 
As when its first music my childhood did greet. 

'T is the home of my youth I tenderly love ! 
There memory will linger and fancy will rove : 
Endeared is that spot, the loved home of my 

birth ! 
Entwined in my heart as the sweetest on earth. 



AGNES. 

A PASTORAL LAY. 

" Fair Agnes, where art thou, sweet maid ? 

Thy flocks are not in pastures feeding, 
Nor yet beneath the greenwood's shade 
Thy peaceful goats to rest are laid, — 

Why art thou still to me unheeding ? 

" O'er every winding hill and dale, 

In Nature's green and glorious season. 
Has breathed my lay, of nought avail, — 
Has called my fair in plaintive tale. 

Till darkened grows my sight and reason." 

Thus piped the youth his fervent lay, 

As, wandering in his rural duty, 
Where flocks and herds each sunny day 
Young Agnes led with footsteps gay, 
The valley's fairest shepherd beauty. 

But ne'er on hill or vale again. 

At eve, or noon, or dewy morning. 
Or when shall wave the golden grain, 
Or flowers ambrosial deck the plain. 

Or torrents rush with fearful warning, — 



116 AGNES. 

Or when the amorous bird of spring 

His mate with fond caress is wooing. 
Till woodlands deep melodious ring 
The anthems sweet they gaily sing 
Of blessed life of Love's renewing, — 

Shalt thou behold the maiden fair, 
To her light footstep ever listen : 
The flocks with moans shall fill the air, 
Shall vainly seek her tender care 
To lead where dewy pastures glisten. 

A stranger sauntering through the grove. 

Of noble birth, he told the maiden, 
Avowed to her his burning love, — 
With words impassioned madly strove 
To prove how deep his heart was laden. 

As, gathering flowers beside the way, 
Zephyrus with her tresses playing. 

This maid he spied, — what luckless day ! 

My shuddering Muse half swoons away, 
And whispers low her words with sighing. 

"With wild resolves the stranger's eye 

Flashed, while the gentlest words he uttered 
But careless to the maid drew nigh. 
And blandly asked the reason why 

She wandered there, and thus he muttered 

" By these tall Alps that reach the sky, 
By all their deep foundations hidden ; 



AGNES. 117 

By the soft lustre of her eye, 

I swear by all the powers on high, 

She shall be mine, this mountain maiden." 

He told her of his castle home. 

Of ancient fame and glittering splendor ; 

That all its wealth should be her own ; 

That she no more with flocks should roam, 
But maidens daily should attend her. 

"Across yon gorge of shining mist, 

A dainty path," said he, '' I 've chosen ; " 
While she unconsciously did list, 
Her dimpled hand he often kissed. 
Then pressed it fondly to his bosom. 

Ill-fated maid ! ah wretched hour ! 

When he thy artless heart did covet ; 
Like mountain snows, thyself more pure, 
Such dreams of heaven thou didst insure. 

To see thy face was but to love it. 

Bird of the valley's summer bower, 

Long shall they watch for thy returning, 

Long shall the vales thy loss deplore ; 

Thy kids shall hear thy voice no more 
At noon, or eve, or dewy morning. 

Oft by her cottage door shall she. 

The mother, wait her darling's coming ; 
But oft the leaf shall deck the tree. 



118 AGNES. 

Her hair as white as snow shall be, 
Ere half her sands of life are running, 

Upon the hills her form shall stalk, 

With haggard face and wild locks streaming ; 
k. maniac, to the storms will talk. 
And with her child will seem to walk, 

And clasp her phantom, madly screaming, — 

And fold it to her tortured breast 

Witlv bony hands ; you 'd weep to see her 
Soothing her birdling to its rest 
Upon her heart's own downy nest, 

And wish that death from woe might free her. 

Agnes ! whilst I her fate pursue, 

Upon its close dread horror lieth : 
The wretch who swore his love was true. 
Plunged her adown afar from view, 
In depths no human eye descrieth. 

Yearly the maids from hill and vale 
In snowy flowers bedecked assemble. 

And chant the lay of what befell 

Fair Agnes of the land of Tell, 
Till mountain echoes distant tremble. 

The midnight winds moan with the pine. 

In sad lament a conference keepeth ; 
And ghosts are seen to haunt the shrine. 
When moonbeams pale at evening shine. 
Above the gorge where Agnes sleepeth. 



UNKIND WORDS. 

Speak not those bitter words ! 

They 11 echo back in sorrow ; 
For she forever from thy side 

Will droop ere comes the morrow. 

Grieve not the faithful heart 

Upon thy love reposing. 
For deep, indeed, is nestled there 

The gem thou 'It grieve in losing. 

The vine around the tree 

By Nature's instinct twineth ; 

The dove is gentle to its mate: 
This, God Himself designeth. 

Oh speak not angry words, 

They '11 poison life with weeping, 

And sink into the trusting heart 
Whose joy is in thy keeping. 



PROLOGUE. 

'T IS not to picture deeds where warriors fell 
Nor praise where genius deigns with wit to dwell, 
Nor soar with eloquence sublime on high, 
Where laws mysterious govern earth and sky, 
Our thoughts this night engage. We here con- 
vene 
To while an hour mid Mirth's own joyous scene : 
'T is right. The cloud portentous lowers no 

more ; 
The warlike clarion's peal is hushed and o'er ; 
The sigh of beauty o'er a dreaded fate 
Has ceased, and light her heart once desolate: 
No more the mother with dejected eye 
Fancies her son in gore and anguish die; 
The statesman on his couch can calmly rest, — 
Anxiety nor danger fill his breast ; 
The enemy before a dreaded foe 
Has crouched, and friendship's hand would fain 

bestow ; 
Brothers we are : that Isle across the sea 
Our fathers nurtured ere this land was free. 
Sure joy befits us ; who would sorrow here ! 
Who mar the boon that dries a mortal's tear! 
Emotions glad may well rekindle free 
In bosoms of the sons of liberty. 



PROLOGUE. 121 

Freedom ! dear nursling of our inmost soul, 

Let no invader dare thy rights control ; 

Not Rome nor Greece such liberty could claim : 

With ours compared, theirs only dwelt in name. 

But not for this our gladdened hearts unite ; 

'T is peace, with joy, we celebrate this night. 

No link is broken in affection's chain ; 

No heart is suffering with bereavment's pain ; 

The father hastes his prattling child to bless ; 

The infant springs to meet his fond caress ; 

And all benign as erst, Hope's glorious star 

Scatters refulgent light as full and far. 

The southern breeze comes with propitious gale, 

And soon will commerce spread her whitened 

sail; 
For war, prosperity will strengthened go, 
And man in thee forget departed woe. 
But, 'midst your joy, let gratitude arise 
To Him who destines all above the skies ; 
The little flower e'en looks to Him on high, — 
He taught it when to blossom, when to die. 

In mimic halls of government you '11 hear 
Sounds fall scarce audible upon the ear ; 
And o'er their councils held in deep debate. 
With visage stern, the sages of your State 
Utter low murmurs of a coming storm, — 
A storm that fills the soul with wild alarm ; 
But here I'll not unfold — with patience wait: 
'T is purest pleasure to anticipate. 
Varied the scenes we spread before your view, 
In Satire's garb to paint a picture true. 



RALLYING SONG. 

Ye sons of New England, ye pride of the 
nation ! 

Who boast of your country wherever ye dwell ; 
Its splendor and beauty, your love and devotion, 

In strains of wild rapture how fondly we tell. 

Its altars of freedom in glory enshrined. 

Where opiDression and monarchy never were 
known ; 
Where virtue and valor ennoble the mind, — 
This, this is the land which you feel is your 
own. 

Shall its stripes and its stars in glory still wave. 
The plough and the sickle the yeomen still 
wield. 
While groans of oppression from down-trodden 
slave, 
Resound in our ears till our hearts are con- 
gealed — 

Till stings of oppression have deadened the soul. 
And the curses of Heaven our liberties blast ? 



RALLYING SONG. 123 

Oh never, while yonder bright planets shall roll, 
Let spot for a slave its bright prospect o'er- 
cast. 

Awake, then, awake ! like your fathers of old. 
When watch-cry for freedom the green forests 
stirred, — 
When over Tri-mountain in echo it rolled, 
From Bunker's green summits through king- 
doms was heard. 

Let your watchword be Freedom — be Freedom 
for all — 
Be Freedom your leader, be Freedom your 
guide, 
Till the chains of the slave into atoms shall fall. 
And the South with the North be forever 
allied. 




A WISH. 

Father ! draw around my sinful heart 
Thy spotless robe when I depart ; 
Let loving Memory's gentle flame 
Kindle when Friendship breathes my name. 




NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

The sun is sinking 'neath its golden bowers 

Of light and beauty in yon western sky ; 
The winds breathe low, nor cloud nor tempest 
lowers, 
To hush their wild ^olian melody. 
Eve hastens on, pinioned on rosy hours, 
And Nature breathes no melancholy sigh. 
But echoes back the song of mirth from Music's 

bowers, 
And casts a beauteous smile upon the dyino- 
hours. 

How many hearts now welcome with delight 
The gliding moments as they haste along, 
And in the festive halls of joy unite, 

Where all is beauty, gayety, and song; 
These will the heart and soul of man invite. 
And lure him to the crowd and joyous 
throng ; 
And ye, oh ye may smile upon the dying night, 
And round her grave may breathe your songs 
of wild delio-ht. 



126 NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

It is enough for me that I shall trace 
Of Time its ages and its changes too, 
And back with Memory's tide shall turn ray 
pace, 
To view the scenes of life once more anew, — 
Scenes Time will never from the soul erase. 
Or change in beauty by their distant view : 
These dying hours will many a hallowed scene 

embrace, 
Shining more bright in beauty's distant loveli- 
ness. 

Time has its glories, Time its changes too ! 

Its ruins, yes, — ah, who shall dare to tell ! 

Its empires lost — dissolved — 't is all too 

true — 

And cities waste the historic records swell ; 

Its changes dire, 't is sad to bring to view. 

But on its glories loves the Muse to dwell : 

And thou, departing year, hast glories not a 

few, 
As memory oft will trace when thou art far from 
view. 

But still there is a solemn echo near; 

It comes to chide or mingle in my lay: 
It is Destruction's spirit brooding here 

O'er heaps of desolation and decay ! 
Where are those lofty piles ! in ruins drear ! 

Their splendor from our city swept away! 



NEW YEAR'S EVE. 127 

And sympathetic woe, in many a gushing tear, 
Beholds the scene that sadly marks our dying 
year. 

Beings have passed who toiled for earthly 
fame, 
That transient bauble on life's troubled 
sea, — 
Who from oblivion sought to save a name, — 

A name ! how sweet to human vanity ! 
It fires the soul with passions that inflame, 
And dazzling leads the 'wildered mind astray ; 
But Virtue's deeds beyond the dying year shall 

claim, 
Beyond the stars, the laurel of immortal fame. 

Pale year! thy rainbow glories all are fled! 

Thy flowers bereft of life and beauty's bloom ; 
And, ah ! turn to the mansions of the dead. 
And coldly there, within the silent tomb, 
Rests many a fair and beauteous head. 
The victim of a long and lonely doom ; 
But man shall lift more beautiful his fallen head, 
When Time's last dawn eternal glories round 
shall shed. 

Farewell ! the evening lamp is burning low ; 

Farewell once more, thou dear departing 
year; 
I '11 tread the threshold solemnly and slow, 

To wait upon thy lingering moments here, 



128 



lYEW YEAR'S EVE. 



For soon, too soon, thou wilt departed go. 
With all thy hopes and warm affections dear. 
Farewell ! wrapt in a shroud of heaven's ethereal 

snow, 
Back to the tomb of a^es thou must moulderino- 




MY BIRTHPLACE. 

How we cling to the spot, the loved spot of our 

birth ! 
'T is the best, 't is the holiest, we find upon 

earth : 
Other scenes may delight us, they fix not the 

heart ; 
'T is the home of our childhood that ne'er will 

depart. 
Even years may roll on, but more beautiful still 
Grows the forest, the valley, the wild wood, and 

rill; 
For there our young footsteps first pressed the 

green sod ; 
There we lisped our first accents, and learned of 

a God. 



TO NELLIE. 

Majden of the sunny South, 
With thy glossy hair of jet, 

Flashing eyes and laughing mouth, 
Thou our loving little pet, — 

In thy glittering row of teens. 
In their rainbow wreath of light, 

Thou hast entered on their scenes, 
Dazzling to thy youthful sight. 

Fairy castles thou wilt build, 

Where no woe can entrance find ; 

All thy soul with hope be filled, — 
'T is the nature of the mind. 

Where the path of duty lies, 

Thorns amongst . the roses grow ; 

Tears, and smiles, and broken sighs. 
Every moment round it flow. 

'T is the nature of our life, 
Nellie dear, our little pet ; 

And thy duty in the strife 
Is unknown to mortal yet. 



TO NELLIE. 131 

None can glide on tranquil seas 
From the cradle to the grave ; 

Trim thy sail and watch the breeze, — 
There is glory for the brave. 

Tints of summer soon will fade, 
Autumn's vesture splendid glow 

Birds that warble in the shade, 
With thee to thy home will go, — 

Where the golden orange bends, 
There to sing in melting strains 

Nellie's welcome to her friends 

From the Jand where genius reigns. 

Maiden of the sunny land. 

May thy Father from on high 

Guide thee with His gentle hand. 
Through life's journey to the sky. 



SONG TO THE NIGHT BIRD. 

FLY to this thicket, sweet minstrel of night, 
For the heavens are moonlit, and cloudless, and 

bright ; 
The sea-nymphs are out from their grottoes of 

sleep, 
And lightly abroad on the face of the deep. 

The flowers are blooming on orange and lime, 
And Araby's jessamine breathes out her balm ; 
The dew-drops are dripping from tree and from 

flower ; 
Then gladden with singing this beautiful hour. 

Then haste, lonely minstrel, from yon silent 

vale; 
The roses will wither, the lilies grow pale ; 
The summer is wearing her bright golden sheaf; 
Thy song only lives with the green of the leaf. 

Then haste, thou sweet minstrel, from silence 

and shade, 
Come hither and warble a sweet serenade 
Oh soothe the lone heart from its kindred afar, — 
Oh sing by the light of yon beautiful star. 



THE EXILE'S EVENING REVERIES. 

I. RECOLLECTIONS OF DEPARTED DAYS. 

'T IS evening, and I hear the nightingale 
Breathing its lonely, melancholy tale, 

So pensively into the ear of Night; 
From yonder land it brings the pensive chime 
Of memories wafted down the tide of time, 

And other days rush on my mental sight. 

And I have seen as bright and glorious days 
As ever circled round a mortal's ways ; 

And I 've had griefs — such, few can ever know. 
Lone are the musings of a broken heart, — 
No kindred friend ! O Tyranny, thou art 

The fiend that spread'st this beauteous world 
with woe. 

The infant, sporting with its silken hair, 
Knows not of manhood's joy or manhood's care. 

Or why the sigh so often heaves his breast. 
My childhood's hours were pure and blest as 

thine ; 
Affection wooed me at her hallowed shrine, 

And sweetly soothed the pillow of my rest. 



134 THE EXILE'S EVENING REVERIES. 



II. TIME. 

Fleeting is life as summer's passing cloud ; 
A day, an hour, a little space allowed, 

And man to earthly scenes returns no more. 
Time ceaseless rolls its swift, untiring flight; 
Race after race is hurried from our sight : 

Time ! man little doth thy loss deplore. 

Mortal, the transient insect of an hour. 
At every breath grasps for the rod of power; 
'T is music to his ear — the moans of man ; 
Through human blood he wades to reach a 



&' 



crown 



When won, another takes and hurls him down: 
Frail glory sought, thus ends his earthly span. 

Youth, radiant as the lovely morning meek, 
Time plucks the roses from his glowing cheek, 

And bends with age the human form divine ; 
Time peoples Death's vast noisome sepulchre ! 
The king and slave alike he doth inter : 

Unsparing Time ! these are thy trophies, thine ! 



III. FAME. 

Why waste the midnight lamp's faint glim'ring 

light. 
In toiling up to Fame's far dazzling height? 



THE EXILE'S EVENING REVERIES. 135 

When gained, poor man, ah, what is that to thee ? 
The spark we mortals cherish here within, 
To leave a name in this dark world of sin ! 

Oh blindness, 'tis thy wild philosophy. 

Strive for a name on God's own holy page, 
And thou shalt share His glorious heritage, 

And rest fore'er in skies without a frown. 
It will for pain, for earthly grief atone. 
To dwell forever at the eternal throne, 

To wear an angel's bright, immortal crown ! 

Fame, wealth, and honor, you are like a dream, 
Or shining bub])les floating on the stream ; 

And what is lore, save it our souls improve, — 
Save that it train to God the heart alone, 
That His unchanging love may be our own, 

That we in death mav find a rest above ! 



IV. PIETY. 

As shines the star in yon ethereal blue. 
As morning sunbeams to the drops of dew. 

So piety illumes the Christian's breast ; 
Serene to heaven it turns the sinner's soul ; 
Pure and sublime, it points to that bright goal, — 

Points where the stricken mourner finds a rest ! 



136 THE EXILE'S EVENING REVERIES. 

As soothes the ear the wind's low gentle sigh, 
So whispers Hope of immortality ; 

And when these atoms crumble with the clod, 
Pure from the fountain of Eternal Love, 
Faith whispers that the soul in worlds above 

Rests pure and holy near the throne of God. 

As west winds on the ocean sink to rest ; 
As evening stills the tempest on its breast, 

And scarce the gentlest ripple seems to rise, 
So is the love of God to sinners sent, 
To check the wayward soul so reckless bent. 

And train the immortal spirit for the skies ! 




I DO NOT LIKE THIS CITY LIFE. 

I DO not like this city air, 

So much with me it disagrees ; 
I fain would seek the country fair, 

And breathe its cool and bracing breeze. 
I love to put my bonnet on. 

And wander o'er the meads unseen. 
And, if I please, to sit me down. 

Where Nature spreads her carpet green, 

And see the lambkins round me play, — 

It does my heart so much of good ; 
Unlike the city's filthy way, 

I would forsake it if I could. 
I cannot bear this rumbling sound. 

It palls upon my weary ear ; 
I would away, and fain be found 

Where Nature rolls her music clear. 

I 'd listen to the robin's song 
At morn upon the orchard tree : 

'T would rouse me with its carolling 
To drink the morning breezes free. 

I 'ni sick of splendor and of show, 
I 'm tired of Fashion's gay attire ; 



138 I DO NOT LIKE THIS CITY LIFE. 

But in the country 't is not so, — 
Simplicity I most admire. 

I fancy oft the calm retreat, 

Where I would spend these summer days, 
Surrounded by some landscape sweet, 

Of valleys, streams, and flowery ways ; 
And there I 'd read from Nature's book. 

Of yonder heavens, the earth, and star, — 
Of tree, of ocean, and of brook, 

And things sublime unfolded there. 

When twilight cast its shadows dim, 

And burning glowed in yonder sky, 
I 'd list, to hear the holy hymn 

That Nature breathes to God on high. 
I know we have our music here, 

It peals from every filthy way ; 
It makes me sick, it wounds my ear, — 

In short, I cannot bear to stay. 

The clock peals out the passing hours, — 

How dull, indeed, they seem to roll ! 
Oh for the vales, the streams, and flowers, 

And scenes that sweet enchant the soul ! 
Where pestilence doth never walk, 

Sweeping its millions with the dead ; 
Nor vice, corrupt, essay to stalk. 

Or round its atmosphere doth spread. 



THE DYING EMIGRANT MOTHER. 

With sorrow, oh my heart is sadly wrung ; 
Grief's sable mantle round my soul is flung ; 

From life I wither in its early morn : 
Gone is the chosen being of my hours ; 
Sorrow, dark sorrow, keenly o'er me lowers ; 

I fade, a being pensive and forlorn. 

I soon nmst yield my breath, I can no more ; 
To yonder sky my spirit soon must soar, 

Bright seraphs bear to regions of the blest; 
No longer shall this breast, by sorrow torn. 
Wither like the young lambkin rudely shorn, 

But down I '11 lay in Death's cold sleep to rest. 

Frail is my life as yonder withering flower ; 
Blighted and faded by the passing shov/er, 

Drooping it hangs upon its fragile stem: 
Like that hath sorrow bowed my aching head ; 
Friends are afar, or sleeping with the dead — 

The dead, I go ere long to sleep with them. 

But ere I close on earth my mortal eye, 
Ere to its scenes I breathe my farewell sigh, 



140 THE DYING EMIGRANT MOTHER. 

To God, to God, I give my all, — my child ! 
Father, hear Thou the dying mother's prayer ; 
My child I yield to Thy paternal care ; 

Oh soothe my burning brow and pulses wild. 

Come, let me part thy soft and silken hair, 
And print a kiss upon thy brow so fair ; 

Yes, let me gaze upon thy meek blue eye ; 
Never, oh, mayest thou feel affliction wild. 

God, be Thou the Father of my child. 
And soothed will be the dying mother's sigh. 

Tears, burning tears, roll down my fading cheek ; 
Choked are the accents that my lips would speak ; 

O God, fore'er the fatherless Thou 'It own ! 
Unmarked for aye by mortal, friend or foe, 
Unheeded now the dying mother's woe. 

Unseen by all, save Thee, O God, alone. 

1 meet no kindred from my native land. 

No friend to soothe me with affection's hand ; 

My husband rests beneath yon new made sod ; 
Alone I weep the widow's burning tear ; 
No friends the weeping mother see or hear, — 

None come to soothe her, dying, save her God. 

As wanes from yonder sky the lamp of day. 
So fade the embers of my life away ; 

To Heaven's most holy will I yield my breath. 
O God, Thou 'It be the Father of my child ; 
It is enough ; all, all is reconciled ; 

In peace I '11 lay me down to rest in death. 



THE DYING EMIGRANT 21 OTHER. 141 

Once more, my child, I '11 gaze upon thy face ; 
Lo ! here, how pure the lineaments I trace, 

How perfect is thy father imaged here; 
Love thou, my gentle one, thy God alone, — 
Thy parents thou shalt meet before His throne. 

Farewell, the last for thee this burning tear. 

I feel death's struggles rising in my breast, 
My spirit longs for heaven's eternal rest, 

P^or nought of earth can joy or sorrow bring. 
Angels, I long for yon eternal day ; 
My spirit's winged to soar to worlds away : 

Death to the dying Christian has no sting ! 




MARCH. 

Mother, it is a pleasant day, 
And long since I was out to play ; 
Why should I here so prisoned stay ? 

Around me nought is sad ; 
The sun shines bright upon the rill, 
The lambs are sporting on the hill. 
The air is warm and very still, — 

See ! everything is glad. 

How gay are Nature's living things; 

The fly creeps forth and shakes his wings, 

And, darting onward, gaily springs ; 

I feel as sportive too. 
The robin sings on every tree. 
No note of sorrow warbles he, 
I know how happy he must be, — 

Sweet bird I feel like you. 

And from his dark and wintry sleep 
The little turtle forth doth creep. 
And long at eve I hear him peep 

From every silent place ; 
The water sings as on it flows. 
Green on its bank the verdure grows, 
Where late so hid from deepening snows 

And frowning Winter's face. 



PICUS-QUERULUS. 

The snow-flakes thickly round are flying, 
Bleak hollow winds about are sighing : 

Why comest thou thus, untimely stranger ? 
'T is winter o'er the landscape dreary ; 
Say, of its rudeness art thou weary, 

Thou pretty bird, thou lonely ranger? 

And why that look intense demanding, 
That tells thy wants without commanding, — 

The language which our heart portrays ? 
'T is hunger, ah ! methinks that 's telling, 
What in thine eye and bosom 's swelling, 

Of feelings which thy heart displays. 

Then take these crumbs our darling gives thee ; 
Stay, beauteous bird, that she may see 

Thy crimson head and speckled plumage gay 
Nay, let her shield thee, winter 's dreary ; 
Sweet little bird, she 'd ne'er be weary, 

No, never, of thy warbling company. 

Come often round our snowy dwelling, 
With gentle lay thy presence telling, 



1 44 PICUS- Q UER UL US. 

Or make thy winter home for aye with me 
And thou shalt fare on richest dainty, 
Thy meal shall ne'er be poor or scanty ; 

Come, pretty minstrel, our companion be. 

The fowler from thy presence spurning, 
We 'd guard thee with a kind discerning; 

And when thy little form is weary, 
Would help thee fold thy wing so smoothing, 
The while caress so sweet and soothing, 

That winter would not seem so dreary. 




THE SISTER TO HER SICK BROTHER. 

Lay thy head, my only brother, 
On thy anxious sister's cheek ; 

We have dearly loved each other. 
With a love no words can speak. 

Thou hast long been absent, brother; 

Many moons and suns have set 
Since we parted with each other, 

And the tears thy blue eyes wet. 

We, with sister, dearest brother, 

Fondly to each other cling ; 
We have lived in love together, 

Like the nestling birds of spring. 

You remember how our mother 

Made our home a garden scene, — 

Called thy sisters lilies, brother; 

You, the rose that bloomed between. 

Could I see thee, O my brother. 
Full of health as then thou wert, — 

See thee smile as smiles no other, 
How 't would ease my aching heart ! 
10 



146 THE SISTER TO HER SICK BROTHER. 

But thou sadly droopest, brother ; 

Let me smooth thy tresses fair, — 
Let me kiss thee, while I smother 

Thoughts within thou must not share. 

Thou art growing feeble, brother; 

Few the words that thou dost speak; 
Lay thy head, my only brother, 

On thy loving sister's cheek. 




THE PARASITE. 

There blooms a splendid flower, 
Where Demerara's waters flow ; 

It takes no root in earth, 

Nor there its blossoms deign to blow. 

It blooms not on the rock. 

Or where the sultry sunbeams light ; 
It blooms not on the wave. 

Or dizzy mountains' snowy height. 

The snow-flake never fell 

AVhere Nature rears this gorgeous flower 
But breezes love it well, 

And wanton gayly in its bower. 

'T is a mysterious thing, 

A wonder of the floral race. 
Blooming where wild birds sing, 

Obscure, without a hiding-place ! 

Within the woodland deep, 

Where tropic suns faint access find, 
Far up the towering tree. 

In one grand garden-bloom combined - 



148 



THE PARASITE. 



Lo, there it blooms and fades! 

Its life deriving from the tree, 
Twining aloft its rainbow shades, 

A wonder and a mystery. 




WAR OF THE EUROPEAN ALLIES 
WITH RUSSIA. 

Crimea ! land of blood — the dread. 

Untimely sepulchre of man ! 
Ambition has its caverns fed, 

And still its fires of death doth fan. 

See old Sarmatia's murd'rous steel 

Plunged deadly deep in Gallia's heart; 

Albion beholds with pious zeal, 

And backward hurls the murd'rous dart. 

Is it revenge, or is it fear, 

Or is it jealousy's dread hate. 
That aims the stroke with force severe, 

And makes the hearth-stone desolate? 

Myriads upon the gory earth. 

In awful death — in carnage dire, 

Far from the scenes that gave them birth. 
Upon thy battle-fields expire. 

Yet, while the Euxine's turbid wave 

Shall lash thy shores with frowning wail. 

The world may call thy battles brave. 

And smile to read the conquerors' tale — 



150 EUROPEAN WAR WITFI RUSSIA. 

Aye, smile to read thy bloody tale, 
Darkening the light of moral sense ; 

Call glory all, if Might prevail. 

Though Right might compromise offense. 

Forever roll, thou darkened sea, 

The death dirge of thy warriors brave, 

Who fought thy battles gloriously, 

But nameless filled a nameless grave. 




THE EMBLEM. 

Maiden, take these snowy blossoms, 
Braid them in thy silken hair ; 

When they fade, learn thou the lesson, 
Emblem of thyself they are. 

Thou, like them, art fresh and lovely, 
In the bloom of thy young day ; 

May no touch of earth too roughly 
Steal thy angel bloom away. 

Like these blossoms beauty fadeth, 
Like their fragrance friendships die ; 

Care the brow of sunshine shadeth, 
Change is written on the sky. 

Turn thine eye above thee, maiden. 
Still beyond, where planets roll ; 

Beauty there no changes knoweth, — 
'T is the beauty of the soul. 



THE NOONDAY SHOWER. 

Ho ! welcome to the sudden shower, 

From heaven's full chalice brisk it falls ; 

How fresh its breath at noonday hour, 
That floats along these city walls. 

The cool wind shakes from oif the tree 
The clinging dust that on it lies ; 

And drops of rain are falling free 
Adown the heated summer skies. 

The little torrents quickly flow, 

Gurgling in cadence through the street ; 
And people hurrying to and fro, 

Wonder the sudden shower to meet. 

The drooping flower lifts up its head — 
No more appears a withered thing ; 

But to the rain its cup is spread, — 
To catch the breeze it lifts its wing. 

The noonday sun, day after day, 

Hath sent profuse its scorching rays ; 

Night after night, with sleepless eye, 
Oppressed, we longed for cooler days. 



THE NOONDAY SHOWER. 153 

Oh, sure we never wish in vain 

For God's good gifts ; at every breath, 

Like droppings of the summer rain, 
They shower upon us until death. 

Onward the cloud its mission goes, 
Freighted with good, away, away ! 

Distributing to friends and foes 
The blessings of its transient stay. 

The snowy fleece beyond that lies, — 

Beyond it, high in upper air, — 
Is rolling back, and swiftly flies 

To give the blue that 's hidden there. 

Forth breaks the sun, with rays subdued, — 
All passed away the sultry heat; 

Nature, with glory fresh imbued, 
Beneath its smile is seen complete. 

Erelong the dark, eternal cloud. 
That hangs before the mortal eye. 

With not a glance beyond allowed, 
Like yonder cloud more swift will fly. 

Yet, when that veil is rent away. 
The mortal eye no more shall see ; 

But slumbering deep in kindred clay, 
Will leave the deathless spirit free. 



154 



THE NOONDAY SHOWER. 



Brighter than scenes on which I gaze, 
That melt in rapture all the soul, 

Will be revealed those mystic ways, 
That science here cannot unroll. 




GOLD. 

" I had a dream, which was not all a dream." 

When Nature, curtained deep in night, 
Had shut her scenes from mortal sight, 
And o'er the woodland, hill, and dell, 
The hush of night in grandeur fell, 
And softer than the breath that flows. 
That stirs no leaf, but opes the rose, 
There stole o'er me that mystery deep, 
That charms the sense in gentle sleep. 

And in my dream a Genius fair, 
With silver wing and golden hair, 
A beautiful, unearthly thing, 
Gave me, like hers, a silver wing, 
And bade me with her dare to soar 
Away, where stretches bold a shore. 
That holds through all creation wide 
The mightiest and the gentlest tide ; 
Where boundless Ocean meets the view, 
The calm Pacific's waste of blue. 
Which folds the sinking sun to rest, 
In the soft ripple of its breast. 



156 GOLD. 

Cliffs lofty, scorn tlie battering cloud, 
And high their tops in ether shroud ; 
Streams winding on in splendor bold, 
Sweep over beds of virgin gold. 
Bright vales more beauteous meet the view, 
Than fair Thessalia ever knew, 
And heavenward raised, in beauty lie. 
To greet the mountain wanderer's eye. 
And there, from yon bright orb on high. 
Sweet spirits come to earth to sigh 
O'er the lost glory of their fame, — 
The glory of the Aztec name. 
And on a harp, aerial strung, 
These spirits played and requiems sung. 
So sad and wild, so sweet and clear, 
The mountain wanderer wept to hear. 
They told how haughty Cortez came 
And robbed them of their Aztec name, 
And beauteous Tenochtitlan gave 
To strangers rude beyond the wave ; 
And ever will their requiems tell 
How Montezuma's glory fell. 

The Genius raised her silver wing. 
And sought a cool, refreshing spring. 
Where with her golden hair she played, 
O'er the fair mirror Nature made ; 
And whilst her gentle wings did rest. 
These words to me she thus addressed : — 
" You know, that gold the heart of man 
Has ruled since Earth her cycles ran, 



GOLD. 157 

Or, since a mortal he was made, 
And from his Paradise he strayed. 
These mountains, towering high and bold. 
Are filled with mines of purest gold, 
That man might here his passion cloy. 
E'en though it should his soul destroy. 

" Then grasping Avarice raised its head. 
And sung from out this golden bed 
O'er the wide world the magic lay ; 
Entranced the heart of man away ; 
Proud Science, with her eagle eye. 
Turned from her starry walk on high ; 
Strong hands which did the ploughshare wield, 
Forsook it, standing in the field ; 
As breathed the bride hymeneal vow. 
The bridal wreath dropped from her brow ; 
And children wept and mothers sighed 
That gold should trusting hearts divide. 
Hordes eager from the cities came, — 
All grades, all sects that bear a name, 
Like insects on Egyptia's shore, 
That covered far earth's surface o'er. 

" Now Avarice bold its strife began. 
Its sceptre raised o'er fallen man, — 
O'er man, his Maker's darling child, 
Whom Earth caressed and for him smiled ; 
Reared her bright groves, her meads, and bowers. 
And filled his lap with fruits and flowers ; 
Whom God hath given a deathless soul, 



158 GOLD. 

To shine when stars shall cease to roll. 
Earth, heaven, before his eyes grow dim, 
' For gold, for gold,' is all to him ; 
And in his wild, ambitious plan, 
Crushed are the high pursuits of man. 
And lo ! on yon Pacific's shore, 
He diors for gold, for shininij ore ! 
But kind Affection's angel smile 
Plays not around his heart the while ; 
Nor meek Religion's watchful eye. 
To turn his thoughts to God on high : 
Earth and its treasure are his goal, 
And c^old the idol of his soul," 

As chidings on the breeze went by, 
Thus spoke the Genius, with a sigh : — 
" 'T was gold curs'd fair Castilia's land, 
And nerveless made her powerful hand ; 
Her genius high in slumber hushed, 
Her spirit proud forever crushed. 
Now man again to dust is bowed, 
And misery all his hopes may cloud." 
The Genius wept, the silence broke. 
And I to earthly cares awoke. 



ANNIVERSARY ODE, 

WRITTEN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF THE 4TH OF 
JULY AT HUNTINGDON, LONG ISLAND, 1849. 

Hail ! to the blest day that has greeted our land. 
The birthday of Freedom, our glory and pride ! 

O'er mountain and valley, to Mexico's strand. 
The glad voice of jubilee pours forth its tide ; 

Great Nature has put on her mantle of green, 

And bends in her beauty o'er Liberty's scene ; 

Our ocean-bound Isle, where the wild surges 
break, 

The anthems of Liberty loudly awake. 

Through the land of our birth, 

Pride and glory of earth. 
The land where no despot a sceptre hath swayed ; 

Like our mountains sublime. 

Scorning tempest and time, 
As firm was the base of its liberty laid. 

Our banner unfurled to the breezes on hifdi, 
Floats gayly in triumph as ever before ; 

How bright are its stars ! how blue is its sky ! 
The same that our fathers to victory bore. 



160 ANNIVERSARY ODE. 

The treasure they gave, while life's blood shall 

flow, 
Like a rampart shall guard from Liberty's foe ; 
The spirit so bold, which our fathers possessed. 
As children we feel it still warming our breast. 

In this land of our birth, 

Pride and glory of earth. 
The land where no despot a sceptre hath swayed ; 

Like our mountains sublime, 

Scorning tempest and time. 
As firm was the base of its liberty laid. 

Let hearts full of gratitude breathe out the lay, 
Let it echo from mountain, from valley, and 
lake ; 
May the breezes of heaven e'en waft it away, 

Till Liberty's voice every nation shall wake. 
May its blessings forever encircle this spot. 
The struggle for Liberty ne'er be forgot, 
Till its glory and beauty to all are unfurled, 
And Freedom's proud banner floats over a world. 

From this land of our birth, 

Pride and glory of earth. 
The land where no despot a sceptre hath swayed ; 

Like our mountains sublime, 

Scorning tempest and time. 
As firm be the base of its liberty laid. 



VALENTINE TO A POET. 

Rarest flowers a minstrel brings, 

Wreathed with laurels round thy name, 
Bright as those from vales and streams, 

Fresh and beauteous as thy fame. 
Down through lapse of coming years. 

Long thy lays shall roll sublime ; 
Bards shall look, with hoary seers, 

Up " the corridors of time," 
Where thy harp, with Nature grand. 

In our country had its birth; 
Where these hills and forests stand. 

Whence thy fame had filled the earth. 
Ere the races long extinct, 

Noble men of forests wild, 
Which thou hast together linked, 

Linked the chains of Nature's child : 
They shall inspiration drink 

From the fountains of thy mind ; 
Ancient fame in shadows sink, 

At the fame thou 'st left behind. 



11 



THE POET. 

No mortal ear can hear those melting strains 

That move the poet with celestial fire : 
Far, far above a world of self he reigns, 

And tunes the notes that warble from his lyre. 
Remote from envy and each low desire, 

The wealth of millions has no power to charm ; 
Though poor and homeless, sweeter still he sings 

From heart with love of Nature deep and 
warm 
O'erladen, beating from its raptured strings. 

One lay, melodious, warbles round his heart, 
To which his fancy fain would stretch its wings, 

Ere his dull mortal coil on earth shall part ; 
Who sings it shall obtain immortal fame. 

And be entitled to a Poet's name. 



TO MY BRIEF COMPANION AT THE 
OLD HOMESTEAD. 

Thou fairy little winsome bird, 
That singest sweet upon the tree, 

Thy song hath charmed my lonely heart ; 
Entranced, I look and list to thee. 

Ah, blissful bird ! how free thy life. 
Ne'er prone to sorrow or to weep ; 

Sure joy ne'er smiles on mortal man 
So pure, with all his reason deep. 

Pale care hath stifled every song ; 

Ambition runs, but finds no goal; 
He covets all but simple joys, — 

Those meant by God to rule his soul. 

Thy day is bliss, thy night is sweet, 
With thy bright head beneath thy wing ; 

No revel with accursed pang 

Doth thy pure bosom ever sting. 

No throbbings of a poisoned heart 
Chills with its pang of deadly woe ; 

Were man's whole life as pure as thine, 
His springs of joy would constant flow. 



164 TO MY BRIEF COMPANION. 

Thou art my guest within these shades, 
That closely bind their leafy crown, 

Where scarce a flickering cloud is seen, 
Or ray of sunshine glancing down, — 

Or scarce a sound from Nature heard. 
Save some strange call from woodland far, 

Or song the shrill cicada sings, 

Which echoes throuj^h the heated air. 

Thou roving bird on airy wing, 
My brief companion, void of harm. 

Thou hast beguiled a lonely hour, 
To weariness hath lent a charm. 

And T, if for a weary hour, 

Might some lone heart of grief beguile, 
I well had used thy lesson taught. 

To banish sorrow by a smile. 






THE " BOSTON DAILY TRAVELLER." 

Traveller ! Traveller ! where do you go ? 
You 're a nice old friend all the world doth 

know : 
Morning and evening you enter our door, 
Walk in the State House, the Market, and 

store ; 
Ride in the cars and sail on the deep; 
Over the mountain you playfully leap; 
Wander the forest to warble your lyre; 
Drink from the fountain your Muse to inspire. 

Traveller! Traveller! where do you go. 
With your manly form and your locks of snow ? 
Down in the Tropics to gather the flowers, 
Filling your pockets to empty in ours; 
Up at the Pole with your hahit of fur, 
Climbing the hummocks your pulses to stir; 
Out by the Island a hunting for pearls; 
Digging for diamonds to set in your curls ! 

Traveller! Traveller! thus do you go. 
With best of the Dailies all Boston doth know ; 
Not ultra or dull — your speeches are fine : 
So may you travel and never decline. 



166 THE ''BOSTON DAILY TRAVELLERS 

Long may you live on this notable spot — 
Freedom's old homestead — unstained by a blot ; 
Green laurels we '11 braid to place on your 

brow — 
'T will become your white locks every one must 

allow. 

Boston, Sept. 24, 1857. 




MY NATIVE LAND. 

Fair land ! I breathe thy fragrant air, 
I gaze upon thy clear blue sky, 

Stretched over landscapes brighter far. 
Than elsewhere meet the human eye. 

To glance abroad with eagle eye. 

O'er prairie rich and mountain grand, 

Where is the soil on earth can vie 
With this, our own dear native land? 

By mountain streams and lucid lakes, 
The poet drinks the inspiring bowl ; 

From forests wild his harp he takes, 
And pours the numbers from his soul. 

Oh grant me here a quiet home. 
However small that home may be. 

And I, a prince, the world might roam, — 
I am a man, for I am free ! 

Dear native land ! the Muse oft sighs 
To sing thy future classic lay, 

As nations fall to see thee rise. 

And Freedom's sunlight round thee play, 

Boston, July 15, 1858. 



THE SOLITARY HOUR. 

I. 
How fast my months and years are flying, 

How rapidly time circles by ; 
And oft a something noiseless whispers, 

" A little while and thou must die. 

•' Erelong thou 'It meet that fearful moment, 
Which sunders life's frail thread away, — 

Which sends thy disembodied spirit 
Immortal to eternity ! " 

O, when I cross the dark deep river, 
That boundary of the spirit land, 

God help me, lest my bark should founder ! 
I shall be safe, held by His hand. 

When life's last accents feebly tremble, 
When fainter grows each mortal sigh, 

O loved ones, near me kindly gather, 
Fond faces ye may hover nigh, 

And check the pangs of sad emotion ; 

'T is meet that I in peace should rest ; 
It may be mine to overcome. 

To walk in white amongst the blest ! 



THE SOLITARY HOUR. 169 

To see the face of God in glory, 

To rest upon His gentle breast, 
Away from all earth's storms and troubles, 

And where the weary are at rest. 

And why thus dread to die ? Oh, never ! 

If God has promised to be nigh. 
Why should we wish to live forever? 

To go to Heaven we first must die. 




THE SOLITARY HOUR. 

II. 
Lay me beneath the green, green turf, 

When I shall sleep my final sleep; 
The bosom of my mother earth 

Let all my ashes safely keep. 

And there let bloom the sweetest flowers, 
To grace my lone and quiet bed ; 

Let winter snows and summer showers 
Fall gently o'er the sleeping dead. 

And pile no stone above my head, 
But leave the mound of velvet green ; 

Let children mingle round my bed. 
And in their mirth be often seen. 

Nature will weep her dewy tears, 
And gentle winds will often sigh; 

I Nature loved with heart sincere. 
And ever felt her glory nigh. 

She taught me by the laughing brook 
My wild and wayward harp to string ; 

And read me from her wondrous book 
Of many a deep mysterious thing ; 



THE SOLITARY HOUR. 171 

And timed my unobtrusive lyre, 

And bade me touch a higher string ; 

And ever from my sounding wire 
My hymnus Deo would I sing. 

Then lay me 'neath the green, green turf. 
When I shall sleep my final sleep ; 

The bosom of my mother earth 
Let all my ashes safely keep. 




A MOTHER'S LOVE. 

There is a depth within the heart, 
A depth no mortal e'er can sound, 

A little spot, from all apart, — 
'T is in a mother's bosom found. 

When all earth's scenes are bleak and drear 
And man no spot of rest can see ; 

When hope is dark, and life a tear. 
To this dear spot oh let him flee. 

The storms may beat, the thunders rave. 
The weary heart be sad with care ; 

He can the storm and tempest brave, 
If but a mother's love is there. 




AUTUMN. 

The cold breath of Autumn comes chilling 

and drear, 
Her ruins through Nature already appear ; 
In the woodland the elm, the maple, and oak, 
At once plainly tell us of Autumn's rude stroke. 
The bright leaves are falling in showers in the 

vale, 
And, in some sunny spot, secured from the gale. 
The last of the flowers have spread out their 

forms. 
Preserved from the frosts and from Autumn's 

cold storms. 

But lone midst the trees which the summer's 

robe wear. 
The willow stands mourner o'er Nature's cold 

bier ; 
Her boughs, which wooed softly the summer 

wind's breath. 
Now loudly are wailing the knell of its death. 
The voice which woke sweetly the earth with 

its lay. 
Enlivening so gayly the bright summer day, 



174 AUTUMN. 

Now wakes its fair song to the soft breathing air 
Of some spicy island or region afar. 
The dove, with its song at the twilight of dawn, 
The thrush, and the lark, from our skies have 

withdrawn ; 
But the lonely wood-robin at noonday is seen, 
In the hollow of leaves on the moss-covered 

green ; 
The quail in her covert you meet with surprise, 
And, startled, away to the thicket she flies ; 
On the thistle the yellow-bird seeks her repast, 
But her song of the summer no longer doth last ; 
The squirrel so sprightly, from rock and from 

tree, 
In wildwood unbounded sports harmless and free ; 
The sound of his revels you often may hear 
In merriment wild through the still sunny air; 
The insects that moaned o'er their early decay, 
In the ruins of death now moulder away ; 
The rill in its loneliness circles apast. 
Where the pebbles and moss are all that now 

last: 
The greens and the cresses which late graced 

its bank. 
And flourished awhile and its nourishment drank. 
With the summer's warm sun have fled from 

the place. 
And Autumn's sad ruins are all we can trace. 

So Autumn recedes as all others before. 
Which on Time's sacred page are all numbered 
o'er. 



AUTUMN. 175 

O Autumn, so pensive, yet beautiful too. 

How rich are thy lessons, thy morals how true ! 

O emblem of mortals ! our earthly decay 

In Autumn we read as it passes away ; 

Yes, on the fair beings once beauty and grace. 

The mark of diseases how often we trace ! 

Aye, Age with gray hairs and deep furrowed 

cheeks, 
Mortality's language in eloquence speaks, — 
His form a mere wreck, for a spirit to dwell, — 
The grave's ripened victim it plainly doth tell ; 
And the leaves and the flowers of Autumn may 

fade. 
And on Death's icy bier together be laid. 
The friends, too, that gladden through life's 

checkered way, 
Like the ruins of Autumn will moulder away ; 
But the spirit of man, immortal, divine, 
The essence of God in His noblest design. 
Unchanging and fadeless, unweakened by time, 
Will claim an existence eternal, sublime ! 



TWILIGHT. 

Sweet is the hour when twilight's shade 

Hangs o'er the dusky brow of night, — 
When fairy forms dance o'er the glade, 

Beneath the moonbeams' pleasant light 
That hour is sacred to the Muse, 

Who softly seeks her sylvan bowers ; 
Her tranquil shades sweet peace diffuse 

Into the soul in twilight hours. 




THE VIOLET. 

There bloomed within a lonely dell. 

A small, but sweet, wild flower; 
The rains of heaven upon it fell, 
The fairies loved with it to dwell. 

And dews at evening hour. 

It grew without a foster hand. 

Without a human care ; 
None watched to see the bud expand, 
But breeze of heaven its bosom fanned. 

And incense fill'd the air. 

This unobtrusive flower we love. 

Although an humble thing; 
The pride of glen and forest grove. 
It scents our pathway where we rove^ 

And heavenward spreads its wing. 

Clothed in the heaven's etherial blue. 

In Nature's garden grows 
This humble flower, that drinks the dew. 
And ne'er has changed its heavenly hue. 

Since Sol on Eden rose. 
12 



178 THE VIOLET. 

Like Truth within the human mind, 

That flower almost unknown ; 
It changes not, but blooms enshrined 
Where treacherous arts no entrance find. 
Nursed at a higher throne. 




A MORNING WALK INTO THE 
COUNTRY. 

Maiden, throw back that veil of thine, 
And breathe this pure and bracing air 

Go, doff thy robe of silk so fine, 

Come, gather buds to deck thy hair. 

For never grew a fairer flower, 
Or ever bloomed a sweeter rose, 

Since Eve was queen in Eden's bower, 
Than that thy face and form disclose. 

The morn is glittering on the sea, 
The sky is smiling on the earth. 

The diamond dews are on the lea. 
And every voice is full of mirth. 

Through Nature's grand old forest hall. 
The wild bird trills its melting lay ; 

'Neath leafy dome and column tall, 
How grandly Nature's organs play. 

E'en here, beneath each ancient tree, 
Where squirrel chirps and robin sings, 

Oh turn aside thine eyes and see 
How beautiful what Nature brinors. 



180 ^ MORNING WALK INTO TEE COUNTRY. 

And deem it not amiss for thee 
In homely garb to climb the hill, 

To greet the squirrel from the tree, 
Or gather flowers thy lap to fill. 

Along the walk, with rustling trail. 
Like princess clad for royal show, 

Or fairy in some Orient tale, 
With dainty step I see thee go. 

Thou hear'st me not — thou wilt not hear, 
That Nature might her secret tell ! 

Perchance she 'd whisper in thine ear 
How thou couldst all the flowers excel. 

Thou 'rt gone ! and I, to moralize 
On human life, am left alone ; 

How happier far the bird that flies, 

Than she who sits on Fashion's throne ! 



'TWAS A DREADFUL COLD NIGHT. 

'T WAS a dreadful cold night, 

For it froze very tight 
The fountains, the earth, and the rivers ; 

If from under the clothes 

You poked out your nose, 
It sent you at once into shivers. 

Old Boreas roared out 

With a horrible shout, 
Which shook all the floor and the ceiling, 

Like an engine at play. 

Puffing fiercely away, 
Till Nature went trembling and reeling. 

Ah, its cold frosty breath 

Brought sorrow and death 
To the poor little orphan in need. 

And the tear that he wept 

To an icicle crept, — 
Oh 't was cold for the orphan indeed ! 



NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS 

TO MY LITTLE DAUGHTER MARIE. 

The sun has sunk from yonder sky, 

And bland the breeze is floating by ; 

Old Winter hides his angry frown, 

And softly smiles through moonlight down, 

As if he fain a world would bless 

With naught but peace and happiness. 

Then joy to thee, my little maid, 

A New Year comes in smiles arrayed ! 

From this full heart is felt for thee. 
The wish that thou mayst happy be 
Throughout each long and changing day 
That mark the New Year's annual way ; 
And may thy voice, so sweet and clear, 
Be heard by us for many a year. 
Through wintry days and sunmier hours. 
When smiles the earth and blooms the flowers. 

What kind affections round thee cling. 
Our darling one, our bird of spring. 
The flower in wintry skies we rear. 
And love through all the changing year. 



N£W YEAR'S ADDRESS. 

I 'd press my kisses on thy cheek, 
And fain my love for thee would speak; 
Thy many kind and gentle ways 
I '11 think of to my latest days ! 

God grant to thee, my little dear. 
Many a long and glad New Year. 



183 




THE CLOUD SHIP. 

The Sim has sunk beneath the hills, 

That on Virginia's western sky 
Lie stretched in one continuous line, 

And bound the horizon to the eye. 

The heavens are calm, the storm has passed, 
Transparent seems the sky of blue ; 

And lo ! as on a sea of glass, 

A bright cloud sails before the view. 

A splendid ship, with hull and mast, — 

A perfect model to behold, — 
With sails full set, and flag aloft, 

In crimson tipped, and lined with gold. 

Mysterious cloud! sailing serene 

On yonder golden sunset sea. 
Oh tell us where thy track hath been. 

And what thy errand here can be ! 

Tell of those fair immortal isles. 

That flowery land unseen, afar, 
Where day in one long sunset smiles, 

Away beneath the evening star. 



THE CLOUD SHIP. 



185 



It calms the heart to look on thee, — 
To think there is some region blest, 

Where life from weariness is free, 

And where the longing soul may rest. 




MAY. 

Minnie, dearest, bring my lute, 
Gladness dwelleth everywhere ; 

Why should we be sad or mute? 
Joy will come and banish care. 

Look thou out upon the earth, 
Minnie, dearest, only look ! 

May is laughing, full of mirth, — 
Laughing by the hill and brook. 

See her richly waving locks. 

Full of beauty — see them now ! 

See her midst the lambkin flocks, 
With a chaplet on her brow! 

Full of splendor, full of love, 
Full of life, and joy, and bliss. 

Gathering sunshine from above, 
To illume the gloom of this. 

Paint her, Minnie, e'en as now, 
Scattering from her urn the dew 

With a garland on her brow. 
Cheering Nature's bleakest view. 



MAT. 



187 



Let us look, when life is drear, 
Where the skies are ever fair. 

Gathering sunshine earth to cheer, 
Till we bury every care. 




WINTER SKETCHES. 

The pictures of sorrow all cheerless and cold, — 
The mother, in grief, on her pallet of straw ; 

The poor little ones, out of poverty's fold, 

Whose tatters and tears all their story unfold ; 

The home of the rich, with its coffers of gold, — 
Are sketches that Winter doth solemnly draw, 
And all may behold. 

Dread forms of the wretched, woe-stricken ap- 
pear, 
With skeleton figure and countenance pale ; 
The small narrow mansion, the coffin and bier. 
Where the wants of the body no mortal will 

fear, — 
Where the bi tings of scorn never call up a 
tear, — 
The rich the poor beggar will never assail, 
Or even desire. 

The tempests of life will soon all blow over; 

A few circling suns to the youngest may come ; 
The best studied joys that wealth can discover, 
Like melodies gay around us that hover. 



WINTER SKETCHES. 189 

The song of the bird, or the lute of the lover, 
Or breezes the meadows of summer that roam, 
Are rapidly over. 

The scorner and scorned will lie down together ; 

The ages to come on their ashes will tread ; 
No chemical art can the particles sever, 
The dust of the one from the dust of the other, — 
The pride of all caste is banished forever, — 

Nor birth of distinction remains for the dead, 
The foe, or the lover. 

A cup of cold water in kindness bestowed, 

The poor wretch to relieve, unpitied in woe, 
Has lightened the burden of misery's load, 
And courage has given to travel life's road, 
Till through its dark windings a better abode. 
Where thornless the blossoms eternally blow. 
And crown are bestowed. 



THE BRIGHT GLOWING FIRE. 

Oh thanks to the fire, to the bright glowing fire, 
The bliss of the heart on a cold winter's day ; 
Here pleasures are centred that never will tire ; 
'T is here we can gratify every desire, — 
'T is here that the poet tunes sweetest his lyre, 
Nor sidis that the summer has wandered 
away, 

By the bright glowing fire. 

At zero the mercury yesternight stood ; 

This morning it ranges, say, twenty below ; 
Around the warm fire half frozen we brood. 
And, if we can help it, will move not a rood, 
But thrust on the fuel, the coal, and the wood, 
And sluidder to hear the wild northern wind 
blow. 

By the bright glowing fire. 

Let those who delight in the jingle of bells 
Enjoy sleigh-riding as much as they may ; 
The wail of the wind, as it mournfully swells. 
And sweeps through the forest, and valleys, and 

dells, 
A tale of distress to humanity tells : 

Who hears this may never a moment delay. 
By the bright glowing fire. 



THE DYING YEAR 

TO MY LITTLE DAUGHTER SUSIE. 

My darling child, before I go, 
It is my wish that you should know, 
By such a brief and simple way. 
What 't is I have to you to say, 
For soon you '11 see my face no more ; 
My life, so brief, is almost o'er: 
When morning lights again the sky, 
I shall be hid from mortal eye ; 
But will you not, my little dear, 
Remember me, — the dying year ? 

Wliat pleasures / have oft bestowed. 
As on you travelled childhood's road ! 
I know that heart of yours will beat 
With rapture, when you oft repeat 
The hours that circled swift away 
Through many a long and happy day. 
When / spread flowers beneath your feet. 
And fain would had your joy complete. 

From all on earth soon / must go. 
My hours are numbered here below ; 
But there are beings of my care 
Who blessinos well deserve to share, — 



192 THE DYING YEAR. 

Sweet beings of my tender love, 
Whom angels smile on from above, — 
Those happy buds of changing earth, 
That bless it with their joy and mirth : 
I leave them with a mournful sigh, 
In wailing winds that echo by. 

Beloved child! when night's repose 
Your dark-blue eyes again unclose, 
You will receive this parting line. 
Together with some gifts of mine. 
And now these feeble limbs so old 
Are tott'ring, and my breath is cold ; 
Then let me bless you, little maid. 
And wish you joys that ne'er will fade, - 
That all the brotherhood, like me, 
To you, my dear, most kind may be ; 
And if old age adorn your brow. 
May you be innocent as now. 
Pray nurture in your gentle breast 
Those virtues which adorn you best ; 
Then earth will smile with joy for you. 
And life grow bright on mem'ry's view. 

My breath is trembling, dim my eye, 
Soon I shall yield my dying sigh ; 
But, when you hear the happy lay 
That tells that I have passed away, 
Oh let affection for me still 
Sometimes your little bosom fill ! 
These parting words remember well. 
And take from me this last farewell ! 



THE NEW YEAR 

TO MY LITTLE SON. 

Good morning, my sweet little boy ! 

The New Year is speaking to you ; 
Good morning, — most gladly we meet, 

Although our acquaintance is new. 

I 've pleasures, and freely I give ; 

My sunshine and earth are for you ; 
Be happy, be good while you live. 

And remember the year that is new. 

Be gentle and lovely, my boy ; 

The dear little dove by your side, 
While you live, may your pastimes enjoy, 

And nothing your pleasures divide. 

I think in thy open blue eye 
Thy feelings of goodness I scan. 

Through hopes of bright future can see 
In manhood the glory of man. 

You 're welcome to pleasures, dear boy, — 
My purest and sweetest for you ; 

I offer no bauble or toy, 

But pleasures both lasting and true. 
13 



THE AVALANCHE. 

Look ! there it hangs ! a fearful thing ! 

Down from its dizzy height to fall ! 
I breathless gaze ; my blood I feel 

Curdling within my veins, and all 
My senses reeling. Ha ! I swing 

In mid air now, — but, gazing still, 
I see it slide an atom's space, — 

Now, now, it rushes from its fearful place 
On high, and, thundering with a crashing roar, 

It falls, — and lo ! the avalanche is o'er. 




HEPATICA-TRILOBA. 

Bright flowers ! the first in early spring-time 
blowing, 

Thy starry forms are out in sheltered nook ; 
Fearless of cold, beside the pathw^ay growing. 

Gay living pictures of great Nature's book ! 

Thy simple stalk, alone, behold ascending 

From heart-shaped leaves around its slender 
base. 
That cluster close, thy life from foes defending, 
From roughened touch, or winds' too rude 
embrace. 

No floral cup, or bell, save thine, doth greet us ; 

The snow-drop lingers in its bulbous cell ; 
No cowslip by the leaping wave doth meet us ; 

Nor mantling verdure deck the sunny dell. 

Fair child of Nature ! first, in thine appearino-, 
What joyous hopes to mind thy flow'rets bring, 

Of shady groves, of vales, and meadows cheering. 
And all the bliss of laughing, rosy Spring. 



196 HEP A TI CA- TR JLOBA. 

Herald of beauty ! though the breezes soften 
That cradled thy fair form in drift of snow, 

Still vainly shall we look and linger often 

For lovelier flowers, when kinder breezes blow. 

Emblem of everlasting mind progressive, 
Upspringing from an apathy profound, 

Which sund'ring every link of chains oppressive. 
Stands up, though adverse powers its fate sur- 
round. 




THE YOUNG BRIDE. 

'T IS Autumn's midnight, blue and clear, 

Not e'en a cloud floats through the sky ; 
Westward the stars their courses steer, 
And, ere the morn, will disappear 
From the pale watcher's weary eye. 

Never again those orbs shall shine 

On her from out their heaven of blue ; 
Never will light that broken shrine 
Where Love's fresh garlands once did twine, 
Watered by young Affection's dew. 

Never again her youthful eye 

Will close on earth in mortal sleep ; 
Her wedded love had spanned the sky. 
When Hymen's song went thrilling by. 
While now she sits in prayer to weep — 

Alone, till morn, while stars of night 
Alone upon her seemed to shine ; 

She 's watched her love through midnight's 
flight, 

Like weary bird that cannot light. 
Whose home is in a foreign clime. 



198 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 

Back oft her thoughts to childhood rove, 
The blissful morn of youthful years, 

When laughing brook and vocal grove. 

Sweet voices of parental love, 

Once more are echoed in her ears. 

Still gently breathes the air of night ; 

A thousand flow'rets drink the dew ; 
The stars still shine in splendor bright, 
And blend their rays with Cynthia's light, 

But soon to fade upon her view. 

]\[orn dawned again with balmy air ; 

The bridegroom came, — she met his gaze 
And Death her pulses paused : despair 
Too deep, too keen, her heart to bear. 

Set free her soul. Heaven's crown to wear. 



WHAT HAST THOU DONE? 

What hast thou done in this day of salvation, 
When rivers of mercy flow down like a flood, 

To save thy poor soul from dread condemnation, 
Revealed to thyself in the statutes of God ? 

Leave all thy idols, thy toiling for treasures, 
The dross which but dazzles thy spirit to cheat ; 

Draw from above all thy riches and pleasures, 
For they are eternal, unchanging, complete. 

Fly to the Saviour, nor hazard delaying, — 
Oh go, with thy heart only trusting in Him ! 

Bow thy proud spirit, believing, obeying. 
Ere hope of redemption forever grows dim. 

Accents of kindness in anguish imploring. 
All full of the love which He bore on the tree ; 

Are still, oh still, with sweet mercy o'erflowing, 
And offered, yes offered, poor sinner to thee ! 

Oh what hast thou done in this day of thy 
Saviour ! 
If thou wouldst escape from the terrors of 
woe, 



200 



WHAT HAST THOU DONE? 



Wake, wake from the slumbers around thee that 
gather, 
Or redemption thou never, no, never mayst 
know. 

May 15, 1858. 




ON THE DEATH OF ISAAC LEWIS, D. D. 

Ceased in death his pulse its beating, 
He has gone to endless rest; 

Slow he passed, like sunset sinking 
In the calm and golden west. 

On the battlement of Zion, 

He, commissioned from on high, 

To the wretched, deep in ruin, 
Preached ' eternal justice nigh. 

From Jehovah came his mission. 
Faithfully he preached His law ; 

Wisely taught the heavenly lesson, 
That the soul its truth might draw. 

Deep and forcible his mandate, , 

Clothed in intellectual might, 
Armed with mercy, truth, and justice. 

From the throne of life and light. 

Those pure precepts which he taught you. 
Parents to your children give, — 

" Yours he sought not, when he sought you," ^ 
When he bade you turn and live. 

1 From his Farewell Address. 



202 ON THE DEATH OF ISAAC LEWIS, D. D. 

Oft he begged for you a blessing, 
Infant children of his flock, 

When he prayed, and poured refreshing 
Water from the Eternal Rock. 

Father, ne'er thy form shall meet us, 
With its mantling locks of snow ; 

Ne'er thy presence more shall greet us, 
While assembled here below. 

Tolls the bell its mournful pealing. 
Low in earth the good is laid. 

And with solemn rites they 're sealing 
The last act by mortals paid. 




HYMN OF HEAVEN. 

There 's a beautiful world in bright regions 

away, 
For man when his soul hath forsaken its clay, 
Where lost are earth's ills on its wild checkered 

way. 
Like dreams of the night in the splendor of 

day. 

'T is a beautiful world — the Saviour is there! 
He taught us to love Him, and troubles to bear ; 
He came to our earth, where He suffered and 

died, 
That man in that world might forever abide. 

There harps by the hand of a seraph are strung, 
Redemption the song that forever is sung ; 
And thrills all the soul as in sweetness it roves. 
Through its evergreen fields and amaranth groves. 

I would go, — I 'd take all the friends that I 

love, — 
1 'd take every soul to those regions above ; 
By rivers of pleasure we 'd sit ourselves down, 
And drink of enjoyment that knows not a frown. 



204 



HYMN OF HEAVEN. 



Immortal to live ! aye, never to die ! 
With great and with good ones forever on high ! 
To learn that high wisdom to us here denied, 
And to live with the Saviour who for us has 
died. 




SABBATH MORNING HYMN. 

Hark ! what holy peals are breaking 

On the morn's unruffled air ! 
Hark ! what holy hymns are waking 

From the aisles of praise and prayer. 

Multitudes this morn assemble, 

"Where is preached the Gospel's word, — 
Truths that make the conscience tremble, 

Truths from out the Book of God. 

Listen, mortals! Why should pleasures 
Such as earth's ensnare the soul? 

Heaven has joys, — yes, richest treasures. 
Far beyond this world's control. 

Yes, the truth is preached to warn thee, 

Sinful man was born to die ; 
Thoughtless youth, and age grown hoary. 

Think upon eternity ! 

Mark how swiftly time is flying ; 

Earthly visions soon must cease; 
Friend and foe alike are dying, — 

Nought from death can give release. 



206 



SABBATH MORNING HYMN. 



Learn the Bible's precious warning; 

Learn the wisdom of the blest : 
Then, on Resurrection's morning, 

Heaven will give eternal rest. 




HYMN. 

Oh would I could forever sing 

Thy strains, redeeming love ! 
They should unceasing round me ring, 

Songs of the blest above ; 
For angels breathe this holy song 

Around the throne on high ; 
'T will fill with joy that mighty throng 

Through all eternity. 

Redeeming love ! I 'd sing of thee 

Untiring evermore ; 
And this my theme should ever be, 

The theme I should adore ; 
Redeeming love the Saviour bought, 

To save our fallen race; 
Redeeming love ! O Thou hast sought, 

And saved us by Thy grace. 

The world shall learn this holy theme, 

The desert breathe the strain, 
The wilderness with beauty bloom, 

Millenial glory reign ! 
Oh would that all could swell its strains 

From India to the pole, — 
Redeeming love ! Immanuel reigns ! 

Should dwell in every soul. 



HYMN. 

Thine earthly temples, Lord, we seek, 
And fain would leave our cares behind 

Oh help us, for our strength is weak. 
And let our souls instruction find. 

We thank Thee for this blessed day, 
When flesh and spirit find repose ; 

Oh give us hearts to love Thy way, 
The only path that wisdom shows. 

Soon will our frail and languid frame 
Cease in Thy courts below to wait ; 

Soon must the soul, from God that came, 
At His tribunal meet its fate. 

Would that the vail this truth that hides. 
Might from the mind be rent away. 

And we might feel that God presides, 
And learn His precepts to obey. 

To Him our hearts oh let us give ! 

This great resolve most freely make : 
To serve Him truly while we live, 

And ne'er the promise dare to break. 



IN THE DEEP WATERS WHEN THOU 
GOEST. 

In the deep waters when thou goest, 
A friend, O sinner, thou wilt need ; 

Time from thee will roll back forever. 
And who, oh who, thy steps will lead? 

Look now to Him who fain would guide you, 
Who, to His fold, ere set of day, 

Calls you, with voice so sweet and tender, 
Entreating you without delay. 

Stop now, O sinner, pause and listen ! 

It comes from God's pure throne of light ; 
Oh turn thine ear to hear its accents, — 

Turn thou, ere comes Death's fearful night. 



14 



I WILL CALL UPON THE LORD.^ 

MY PRAYER IS TO THEE, O LORD ! Psalm. 

I WILL call upon Thee 

When the morning is light ; 
I will call upon Thee 

In the darkness of night ; 
I will call upon Thee 

Amid sorrow and care; 
I will call upon Thee 

In the spirit of prayer. 

I will speak unto Thee 

When I 'm weary and lone ; 
I will speak unto Thee 

Till it reaches Thy throne ; 
I will speak unto Thee 

When burdened my heart ; 
I will speak unto Thee 

Till the burden depart. 

I will look unto Thee, 

Look in every distress ; 
I will look unto Thee 

And my sins will confess ; 

1 1 Samuel xii. 17. 



/ WILL CALL UPON THE LORD. 211 

I will look unto Thee 

When all covered with gloom ; 
I will look unto Thee 

Till I enter the tomb. 

I will pray unto Thee, — 

Prayer is all of my life ; 
I will pray unto Thee, — 

'T is my weapon in strife ; 
I will pray unto Thee 

With my uttermost breath ; 
I will pray unto Thee 

Till I slumber in death. 

I will sing of Thy love, 

My Redeemer, my God; 
I will sing of Thy love 

Till I reach Thine abode ; 
I will sing of Thy love 

When Thy face I shall see ; 
Then will sing of Thy love — 

Oh, forever, to me ! 



TO MY DAUGHTER SUSIE. 

Fair lily of my little flock, 

My jewel, in my heart enshrined, 

How beautiful each clustering lock 
Around thy marble brow is twined. 

Upon thy face, enthroned serene, 
Is mildness like the summer night. 

When moonbeams rest o'er all the scene, 
And not a cloud obscures the sight. 

Oh wear upon thy gentle breast 
The signet of a Saviour's love ; 

Then beauty, brighter than the rest. 
Shall shed its radiance from above. 

Then, in the gardens of the blest, 

Where blossoms never drop and fade, 

New vigor shall thy form invest, 
And earth will never cast a shade. 



TWILIGHT MUSING. 

The sun in western sky serenely glows, 

And crimson light upon the ocean throws ; 

While gently o'er its undulating breast 

The zephyr sighs and calmly sinks to rest; 

Nought else is heard but softly- mingled song. 

In echo floating through the vales along, 

And Spring's slow twilight thoughtful stealing 

near, 
Invokes the spell by fancy held so dear. 

See, on the high and dusky vault of blue, 
The crimson tints of sunset cast their hue, 
And far on high a star or two are set, 
Like diamonds in its azure coronet. 
The breeze of eve springs up, and on its wings 
Is borne the song the night-bird sweetly sings ; 
The mingled sounds of forest, vale, and rill. 
Monotonous and sweet the valleys fill ; 
Released from toil the ploughman hies him 

home, 
Singing along his merry rustic song ; 
And Heaven itself, while Nature quiet sleeps. 
O'er earth and seas her holy vigil keeps. 



214 TWILIGHT MUSING. 

fancy, where art thou ? E'en roaming far 
In heaven's own canopy from star to star. 
Ye spirits pure, from yonder reahns of light, 
Tracing your pathway 'mong the orbs of night, 
Tell — from the precincts of some distant star. 
And from those twinkling orbs still further far — 
The secret truths in mystery that lie, 
From Nature's deep unsearched philosophy ; 
And let me ask, amidst this reverie. 
What are their beings — such, e'en such as we ? 
But stay, thou wayward thought, 't is unrevealed : 
Ask not the secret — God hath it concealed. 




THE INDIAN BASKET. 

Accept from me this little basket, 

By au Indian maiden made, 
From the forests round the Casco, 

Where the Indian maiden strayed. 

Ne'er in princely halls of splendor 
Queenly grace like hers you '11 find, 

Ne'er such eyes with beauty tender, 
Ne'er a voice like hers refined. 

See the Indian fainting, fading, 
Weary in the white man's chase. 

Leaving forests where he braided 
Glorious mem'ries of his race. 

Take, dear friend, the little basket, 
'T was by Indian maiden made ; 

Would it were some precious casket 
With the rarest gems inlaid ; 

Would it were some splendid treasure. 
Which my warmth of heart might tell. 

That might give you lasting pleasure. 
When on me you chanced to dwell. 



SPAIN. 

Ages their rounds have o'er Hispania rolled, 
And melted in the dim and mighty past, 

Since her high hand was raised in frenzy bold 
The bud of Christian liberty to blast. 

Heaven's genial suns have blest her fertile soil, 
Her hills and vales in beauty glad the eye ; 

Blessings are hers that urge not human toil, 
But yield the wants of man a full supply. 

Blest in her clime and soil, by Nature blest, 
Yet persecution stains her glory still ; 

Unholy passions in the papal breast 
Wrought out her destiny of lasting ill. 

Oppression with a tyrant reign began, 

Crushed freedom which Almighty wisdom gave. 

Till darker Inquisition chained the man. 

And hushed his soul in midnight like the 
grave. 

Hist'ry its tragic tale will never tell, 
Its awful secrets none shall full relate. 



SPAIN. 217 

When fury like the fiercest vengeance fell, 
And burned in human breast with envious 
hate. 

Base institution, by a despot framed, 

To heaven-born rights of man the deadliest 
foe — 

Earth for its cruelties e'en wept ashamed, 
And startled at its pangs of human woe. 

Then fled the Moor the home that gave him 
birth, 
Left fond endearments which his bosom 
wrung. 
Scenes which enshrined the golden dreams of 
earth, 
And o'er his life a holy radiance flung. 

Millions forsook their loved and cherished land, 
And only cast one long and lingering look ; 

From their bright streams, and flowers, and 
breezes bland, 
Their solitary way forever took. 

O God ! what tortures rise before the view, 
The work of frantic Persecution's skill ; 

Fancy her canvas spreads, and fain would draw 
The scenes of woe its dark prospective fill. 

Those tortures echo round her crumbling throne, 
And blight her spirit with revengeful hate ; 



218 SPAIN. 

Wrapt in a cold reserve she sits forlorn, 

To feel the curse that marks her mournful 
fate. 

Not those soft airs that round her mountains 
float, 

Or melodies that from her valleys swell. 
The social streams of happiness promote. 

To weave o'er all a bright enchanting spell. 

Her groves, the Genii of immortal song 

Their home delighted might have ever made, 

And woke more classic harp than Maro strung 
By fair Italians streams and hallowed shade. 

The universe has listened to her lore; 

Her wisdom pure has taught profoundest sage ; 
Her virtue brightened every peopled shore, — 

Hispania been the glory of the age ! 

Rocked in her indolence with curses vile. 

Long has she slumbered on Corruption's bed; 

Science her name has blotted from its scroll, 
And Justice turned away its injured head. 

Is there no star of hope on night's dark sky. 
No voice of rest to smooth the troubled wave. 

No joy to soothe aggression's stifled sigh. 

No power on high the fettered soul to save ? 



SPAIN. 



219 



Aye, there 's a God of justice — Spaniard, rise ! 

A lofty doom may yet thy fate control; 
Look upward to that throne beyond the skies, 

Till light shine through the darkness of thy 
soul. 




I HAVE FOUND THEE, FLORA. 

SUGGESTED WHILE ON THE WAY TO THE NAVY 
YARD AT WASHINGTON. 

I HAVE found thee, blushing Flora, 

Out from all the city's din, 
Beautiful in Nature's glory, 

Here these hallowed shades within. 

In the populous city pining, 
What the weary mind can fill! 

Glory wears a fulsome shining, 
Leaving life a vacuum still. 

Wliat were all Napoleon's conquests. 
Save to scorch his heated brain, — 

Goading on a mad ambition, 
Till it clenched his iron chain. 

But this spot of rural beauty 
Has no sin, or woe, or dread ; 

Pure the breath that blows so sweetly 
From the locusts overhead. 

Here, indeed, is earthly glory; 

This is pleasure's brimming bowl, 
Here to witness blushing Flora, 

"Where Potomac's waters roll. 



CHOICE OF A FRIEND. 

Give me a friend whose noble mind 
Would scorn deceit or word untrue ; 

Whose heart is warm with feelings kind; 
Whose pleasures chaste, however few ; 

Whose whole deportment marks her just ; 

To her companions good and kind; 
Faithful and true in friendship's trust ; 

With manners graceful and refined. 

But whither shall w^e turn to find 

In daily life a friend sincere ? 
Fashion controls the human mind, 

And rules it with a rod severe. 

Then let me go from Fashion's round, 

Its heartless ceremonious rite, 
To where in sunnier realm is found 

What well might heart with heart unite : 

Religion, virtue, here abound, 

Mingled with meekness, truth, and sense ; 
Manners polite and gentle found, — 

All glowing with intelligence. 



222 CHOICE OF A FRIEND. 

Where such you meet, you meet a friend, 
Sincere and generous, just and true ; 

Beauty is perfect in that mind, 
And perfect in the manners too. 

Then, through life's ever varied scene, 
Such should my guide and pattern be ; 

Life then would be a walk serene, 
And friendship a reality. 




TO THE ORIOLE. 

Beauteous bird, we hail thy coming; 

Leaf and flower are on the tree ; 
They tell us, yearly, thy returning, 

And we 've longed to welcome thee. 

From the blithesome days of childhood, 
Thou hast annual visits made ; 

Always coming when the wildwood 
First puts on the vernal shade. 

Beauteous bird ! thou 'st been a rover 
Where the rude winds never blow; 

Yes, methinks, hast wandered over 
Where the lime and orangre fjrow. 

Hast thou not some tale to tell us. 
Of yon bright and orient clime, — 

Of those rivers, vales, and islets. 

Sung by bards in themes sublime — 

Where thou 'st roamed by vale or mountain. 
Rich in every glittering hoard; 

Dressed thy plume, or drank from fountain 
Never yet by man explored? 



224 TO THE ORIOLE. 

In that note so earnest swelling, 
Breathed to her, thy gentle mate, 

Thou, methinks, art fondly telling 
Thou dost all to her relate. 

Ah ! thy notes to me are cheering, — 
How they lead to childhood's day, 

When I sported, never fearing 
Care or sorrow, on my way ; 

When I watched with anxious eying, 
Thy rich plumage long to see. 

When thou didst in playful flying 
Shake the blossoms from the tree, — 

From my casement so familiar. 
Where the willow drooped before, 

And its low and mournful rustle 

Stole like waves along the shore, — 

There my eye has often met thee, 
Hovering round thy curious nest. 

Fluttering while the breezes rocked thee, 
Rocked thy nestlings sweet to rest. 

But that tree forever perished, — 
How I grieved to see the change ; 

So the things we 've fondly cherished 
Fade, and leave us lone and strange. 



TO THE ORIOLE. 



225 



Beauteous bird! come, niake thy dwelling 

In this dark acacia tree; 
Here mayst rear and teach thy nestling 

How to sing and fly like thee. 



15 




EVE^^ING HYMN. 

Great Ruler of the universe supreme ! 

Thou spirit of all life and light ! 
To Thee alone would we approach unseen, 

As silence closes round the night. 

With gratitude may every thought expand, 

Awed by Thine omnipresent eye, 
Whose vigilance our every thought has scanned, 

As swift our moments hurried by. 

Faintly, indeed, Thy statutes are imprest 

Upon the tablet of our mind ; 
What feeble reverence from our erring breast. 

For mercies everywhere combined. 

With pain a useless life we oft behold. 
Hence turn us wholly. Lord, to Thee ; 

And will, that in Thine everlasting fold, 
We yet Thy face may live to see. 



PARTING MEDITATIONS. 

When you leave the household altar, 

And your home shall distant be, 
Think you not our voice will falter 

When your place we vacant see ? 
Name no more the hour of parting, 

That on which so oft you dwell. 
Lest the tear you would be starting. 

Lest the heart with grief should swell ! 
For, you know, the coming morrow 

Bears you from us far away, 
And alone in silent sorrow 

We shall pass each wintry day. 
Often, when the day declining 

Sends its glory up the West, 
We shall watch its peaceful shining 

Round you, with a radiance blest! 
We will watch, as day reposes. 

As you 've watched with deep delight, 
Till the evening sky discloses 

All the brightest stars of night. 
When around the hearth we gather, 

Father, mother, sister, three, — 
Then we '11 dwell more fond than ever, 

And your faces sigh to see. 



228 



PARTING MEDITATIONS. 



When upon our pillows resting, 
Ere we close our eyes in sleep, — 

When we ask our Father's blessing, 
Him we '11 ask you both to keep. 




THE OCEAN. 

In my sea-side dwelling nestled, 
Sheltered from the fearful night, 

Waves I hear, tremendous, warring, 
Hurled together in their might. 

Ah! is that the glassy ocean 
I 've seen sleeping like a child, 

Without murmur, without motion. 
Flickering on its surface mild? 

Hark ! those moans with dread appall me, — 
Strike the bravest heart with fear ; 

Now they near us, wilder tossing, 
Trembling on the listening ear. 

Navies frail, together founder, 

Quenched like lights to shine no more ! 
Mighty Ocean ! echoing thunder. 

Who that dwells upon thy shore 

Carries not within his bosom 

Grander thought and higher aim? 

Schooled by God's great might and glory, 
All is trifling, all is tame. 



THE GRAVE OF MY LITTLE NAME- 
SAKE. 

There is a little grave by yonder hill, 
A little grave I 've often wished to see ; 

They say 't is in a valley deep and still, 
And darkly shadowed by a spreading tree. 

I knew the infant one that slumbers there. 
And oft have pressed her gentle lips to mine ; 

Her prattling, guileless voice I loved to hear. 
When uttered at the dear maternal shrine. 

And thou, her sister, long her toys will keep, 
And keep the lock of hair that graced her brow 

Her heart so cold in Death's eternal sleep, 
Heeds no emotion that affects us now. 



ST. NICHOLAS TO MY DEAR CHILDREN, 

Dear children, lo, 't is Christmas Eve ! 
Again I 've come my gifts to leave ; 
A long twelvemonth has passed away 
Since I a visit came to pay. 
My little friends I ne'er forget, 
And long it seems since last we met. 
Dear children, may I hope to find 
A heart in each as pure and kind, 
As when a year ago this day 
St. Nic. his visit came to pay? 

Good children always love me well ; 

The gifts I 've brought them none can tell ; 

But ne'er a year have I before 

Of presents brought so nice a store ; 

And what they are, ah ! who shall see 

Or know what Nicholas gives to thee, 

Until the morning peeps around 

And you these presents shall have found? 

I 'm very old, my little ones ; 

I 'm short and fat and full of fun ; 

My cheeks are plump, my face is round ; 

In merry glee I most abound; 



232 ST. NICHOLAS TO MT DEAR CHILDREN. 

I 'm very old ! there 's many a race 
Has gone to its last hiding-place 
Since Nicholas first came to earth, 
And joy sent round the wintry hearth. 




"I 'M THE LAST OF MY TRIBE." ^ 

Thus it was that a poor Indian spoke, 
As life's sun was fast going down ; 

And the force of those words must have woke 
Emotions few mortals have known. 

Can you sound all the depth of that thought, 
The soul-stirring sadness it brings. 

With the changes that ages have wrought, 
The death-knell it mournfully rings? 

Oft he sat on a rock by the road. 
Through summers successively gone ; 

Dwelling, perchance, on his woodland abode, 
And riches his fathers had known. 

Houseless and homeless, wand'ring at will, 
. Feeble and old, weary and lone, 
Baskets he wove, with wonderful skill, 
From morning till set of the sun. 

As I passed there a summer agone. 
There still was the shadowy tree ; 

There was the rock, where so often alone 
I chanced that poor Indian to see. 

1 The last of the Montauk tribe of Indians. 



234: 



I'M THE LAST OF 31 Y TRIBE: 



Now they tell me that he is no more, — 

His tribe is forever extinct ; 
Buried their arrow, silent their oar, 

Gone the last one that to them was linked. 




TO A MARTIN.^ 

Thou little wanderer of the wing, 
Thy home is where the daisies spring, 
And snowy lambs with gentle eye 
On grassy slopes reposing lie. 
Oh I is there now for thee no room 
In balmy bowers where roses bloom ? 
Oh ! is there not 'neath heaven's high dome 
A spot but this to make thy home, 
Where latent fire and iron ball 
Already fill this cannon wall ? 

Say, birdie, say, why dost thou crave 
A war-worn ship that rides the wave ; 
Why cease the woodland's sweets to roam, 
And iron walls choose for thy home ? 
Poor bird, why seek so strange a place ? 
Say, dost thou love the human race. 
And rather build thy little nest 
By man, though in a cannon's breast? 

Presagest this an omen blest ; 
Shall peace now on our nation rest ; 

1 To a martin that built her nest in a thirty-pounder Parrot 
gun, on board the United States Steamer Richmond, near Port 
Hudson, Mississippi River, during the spring of 1863. 



236 TO A MARTIN. 

Or must we whet the bloody blade 
Again, before the strife is stayed ; 
Or, dost thou bide the clouds that lower? 
Life 's but a risk from hour to hour. 

Ah, gentle wanderer of the wing. 
That came so sweetly here to sing, 
How couldst thy gentle bosom spare 
Thy nestlings to the warriors' care ? 

Then warbling low she tuned her lay, 

And seemed in sweetest song to say : 

'• Mothers before their loved ones gave 

Our Flag and Union both to save ; 

My little brood, my home, my all, 

I 've placed between the foe and ball ; 

Myself and nestlings I would give 

To have our Flag and Union live ! 

To me, though great the sacrifice, 

'T is nought when Freedom is the price. 

By God's own help you '11 sheath the sword ; 

The Union saved, and Peace restored ! " 



THE UNITED STATES STEAMER 
RICHMOND. 

ON THE TAKING OF NEW ORLEANS.^ 

Our gallant ship her way had stood 
Through fiery storms of shot and shell, 

And hot the tide of human blood 
The siege terrific flowed to quell. 

Bold ship ! that in her bosom held 
Brave hearts as ever beat in man, — 

That faced the foe till victory smiled, 
And on its track in splendor ran ! 

Hard panting in that awful strife, 

What fame the noble Richmond won ! 

And blended in our nation's life 
Achievements time may not outrun. 

Ah, 't was indeed an awful strife ! 

The lurid storm terrific ran ! 
And battle throes, in earthquake might. 

Were sped to test the rights of man. 

1 Written for a naval officer attached to the Richmond during 
the war. 



238 UNITED STATES STEAMER RICHMOND. 

Brave ship ! one of that squadron true 
Which Farragut victorious led, — 

Which cleft the fated knot in two, 

And crushed the hydra monster's head ! 




BATTLE OF BULL RUN. 186L 

WRITTEN THE MORNING AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Oh, won't the world have jolly fun, 

O'er forty thousand braves, 
Who from the enemy did run 

Like troops of cowering slaves ! 

Won't England laugh and shake her sides, 
And wag her head and sneer ! 

Won't France, and every land beside, 
Such braves with plaudits cheer ! 

That awful run, from old Bull Run, 

Is hence enrolled in fame ; 
Immortal histories have been won, 

But Freedom burns with shame. 

Ah, beauteous land of glorious fame, 
AVhere is thy nerve and valor gone? 

Rise ! haste her honor to reclaim, 
Or fly the land of Washington. 



NOTES. 

I. Leaves on the Stream. 

This little stream flows through the pleasure-grounds of the 
late Prof. Norton of Cambridge, Mass. It was in the season of 
autumn, when the foliage of the more easterly latitude is of the 
most gorgeous colors, that the author passed through those 
grounds, admiring the stream and rural beauty of the surround- 
ing scener3^ 

II. Mount Auburn. 

Eeference is made in this poem to a friend — Mrs. Jane E. 
Locke, the authoress — who accompanied me through that beau- 
tiful cemetery, and who, soon after, very suddenly died, 

III. Lake Harrison. 

This splendid sheet of water is in the forest in Washington 
County, in the State of Maine. It is a fashionable resort for 
parties of pleasure for many miles around. On one of these 
occasions the author was called upon to name the Lake. It was 
then christened Lake Harrison, and soon after the poem was 
written. 

IV. Glenville 

Is a charming little rural village situated on the Byrum River, 
which forms a part of the boundary line between New York 
State and Connecticut. 



V. To the Delaware River. 

Wequehhalah was King of the Delawares between one and 
two centuries ago He became deluded bv the arts of the white 
16 



242 NOTES. 



man to whom he had given a cordial welcome on his 
After enjoining upon his people to move out of the reach of the 
white man, he allowed himself to be executed, hoping by it to 
save them from further molestation. — Oral Indian Tradition. 

VI. The Young Bride 

Is a true tale. She was a lovely and beautiful young lady, but 
died of a broken heart soon after her marriage, in consequence 
of the neglect of- her husband. 

YII. To A Martin. 

This poem was suggested by the following incident from the 
correspondence of Mr. Emery, an ofHcer of the United States 
Steamer Richmond, during the war: — 

After the naval attack on Port Hudson, during which the 
Mississippi was burned, and most of the fleet disabled, the Rich- 
mond was stationed just beloAV the fortifications, to guard, with 
other vessels, the flank of Banks' army. The green landscape, 
bordering the overflowing waters of the noble Mississippi, dis- 
played every spring flower of that luxurious clime, from the jas- 
mine-entwined magnolia down to the familiar violet. Birds 
were everywhere Avarbling and making their little homes. A 
pair of martins came to the Richmond, and selected the interior 
of a thirty-pounder Parrot rifle, which extended astern of the 
ship, and, though a board-house was placed for them in the 
mizen-top, they preferred the long shining cannon, and actually 
brought sticks, straws, etc., a quarter of a mile from the shore, 
built their nest next the shell in the gun, and hatched their 
little brood. During the simultaneous attacks of Grant at Vicks- 
burg and Banks at Port Hudson, this gun was moved to shell 
the river batteries. The birds hovered about the muzzle until 
the piece was fired, when, with the fragments of their nest, they 
departed. 



